#it gives you the freedom for it to be whatever you want with none of the pressure

[positivelyadhd]

i have been reading through the diary I kept from ages 14-17 and realising how helpful it can be to keep a record of how you're feeling at different moments.

not only is it helpful to write down and process how your feeling and give yourself time to truly think about it, it's nice to have something to look back on. to not just remember how you felt about a certain situation but to actually have yourself from that time tell you.

and also, from an adhd perspective, it's really lovely to have reminders of things I'd almost entirely forgotten. it's easy to think that your life right now isn't interesting, but in 5 years time? to know what songs you were listening to or book you were reading or even that Thing that you were so worried about but now you can't even remember the details. it's nice to have a physical reminder that time passes and things really can get better.

[sinvulkt]

...

*heavy sigh*

*pull back the fic I made exactly for that kind of fallacious baseless fear.*

Guys. I tested it. Litterally. Everyways possible. If your fic get invited in a collection, it *cannot* be put into anonymous, except if the collection was already in unreveal mod/anonymous.

Even if the collection your fic is in get passed into 'anonymous', your fic will stay 'not anonymous', bcs it stay in the state it was when it was accepted into the collection, and doesn’t change with it.

Basically- if it's a collection neither anonymous nor unrevealed (an easy thing to check when you click on the collection name), nothing can happen to your fic, no matter what the owner of the collection do!

Here are the full explanations with screens. (I did my best xd).

Please stop accusing collections of something they cannot do.

Please.

I've seen a lot of fics disappear from my bookmarks, some 10+ years old, because they were added to an unrevealed collection. It makes me wonder if people realize what your fic being added to a collection actually means and if the authors approved it automatically without realizing what would happen.

If someone adds your fic to their collection, they can hide it! They can mark the collection as unrevealed and your fic will be unreadable to anyone other than them! If you're writing works for a surprise event, like a Secret Santa, this is really nice.

But if you're just writing and someone adds your fic to a collection for their own personal use and marks it as unrevealed, that. . . really sucks.

I bookmarked this fic in 2017, almost 5 years ago. Knowing me, the fic itself was probably at least a couple years old at the time I bookmarked it.

This is a 5+ year old fic that is completely inaccessible now because it was added to a collection that, as far as I can tell, is literally just for the collection owner's own reference. There's almost 30 fics in the collection, all of them unrevealed.

Please don't blindly accept collection requests and if your works ARE in a collection, make sure that they aren't being hidden without your knowledge or consent.

[mctoran]

If you are a fan of The Backrooms, then you may be familiar with the lore of The Pantheon and Convergence. If not, then you may at least be familiar with entities such as The Game Master, The Keymaster, Blanche/The Storyteller, Nostalgi Gaius, Argos/Argus, The Red Knight/Crimson Wanderer, Icarus Procidens, etc. If you want a better idea, you can check the posts under the “backrooms pantheon” and/or “backrooms convergence” tags.

Even if you know about none of those things, but simply enjoy The Backrooms lore, then you may be interested in these two new wikis:

They are The Backrooms: Pantheon and The Backrooms: Convergence. They are functionally independent of each other, telling their own unique stories about two whole different universes with their own rich and deep lore – but they do nonetheless tie into each other as part of a greater narrative. They are primarily character-driven and story-driven, including many well-known concepts in the existing Backrooms mythos, but still strive to maintain and recapture the liminality that The Backrooms is rooted in. As the original creator/owner of this lore, I founded these wikis so that my full, true vision for them could be properly expressed with full creative freedom.

However, we cannot do this alone. We are in need of authors, artists, coders, or even just readers/fans in order to expand the community and realize its full potential. Unlike other backrooms wikis, there is no elitism or gatekeeping, and the barrier to entry/writing is lower – but not at the expense of quality, dignity or reputation. Posting a page is much faster and easier, but drafts are still closely reviewed and regulated to ensure quality in the writing and consistency in the lore. There is no enforced age limit, but a certain degree of maturity and competency is expected from everyone. The ultimate goal is to cultivate a thriving community of those who are all passionate about the stories and characters of this universe, and in turn can reflect that passion in whatever they may produce for it.

If you are at all interested, then please check out the linked sites above, or even join the tumblr community and discord server (linked below). All are welcome, readers/fans and prospective contributors alike. We hope you are willing to give it a chance!

[poppy-metal]

arrange marriage with patrick where you know he doesn’t love you. this entire thing was cooked up by your parents, and you feel guilty for being the one that destroyed his freedom. so when he slips away for unexplainable periods of time, you keep quiet. you know who he’s seeing, what he’s doing, as he returns with a slack jawed smile and missed hair. it stings slightly, knowing you’re in a loveless marriage and that all chances of martial, conventional bliss were down the shitter, but what can you do? he doesn’t want to be with you. he owes you nothing, he’s just as trapped as you are. you’re polite and warm, you ask about his day, you want to be friends if nothing else. patrick gets frustrated, mostly because of the guilt. he is objectively awful to you, and you’re still so sweet. so sweet. you look at the hickeys on his neck and you don’t scream, don’t yell. all you do is cover it for him before you have to go to gala. you cover it! how can you be so forgiving? how can you not care? he fucks tashi 3 times a week. he’s being awful. and you still smile when he comes home. take his coat, kiss his cheek. any time he’s tried to have sex, tried to do the proper thing and produced another heir to the family fortune, you graciously turn him down, like you’re doing him some kind of grand favour. when sometimes, he just actually does want to fuck you. it’s hard. it’s weird. he kind of wants you?? but you’re so distant. he strangely feels a longing for you, missing something he never had. what did you look like, sound like when you laughed uncontrollably? what did you want to be when you were a little girl? who are you?

patrick knew hating you wasn't fair. it didn't stop him from treating you likes shit, though. didn't stop him from barely putting in effort during your wedding, from looking bored during the vows, from planting a stiff kiss on your lips, and then proceeding to treat you like you didn't exist.

it wasn't your fault, and yet it was. he couldn't exactly up and tell his parents to fuck off - though god knows he desired nothing else than to do just that. in the end, he was a conduit. a vessel to carry on a legacy he didn't give two shits about.

he knew it was coming.

he just wish he had more time.

more time to be reckless. more time to get drunk at parties. more time to be a general stain on society. more time with tashi duncan.

but destiny waited for no one or whatever the fuck, and now here he was, shackled to you and resenting every fucking thing about you.

at least you knew how to keep your mouth shut.

it would have been a bitch to deal with you running and tattling to his mother about how he hadn't fucked you yet - how he was still seeing tashi. as much as he appreciated your discretion, he also hated you for it.

you had no fucking backbone. you were nothing like tashi. she was bold and rash and clawed her way from nothing and took none of patricks shit. you took it all. mouth properly suctioned to his asshole just like every other spineless dipshit in his family.

he knew you saw the hickeys she left on his neck. knew you smelled the sex on his skin when he stumbled home at 4am and slid into bed, finally. he saw you register these things, the scratch marks down his back - saw your dainty little chin wobble and then still. saw your eyes dart away. and he felt something nasty claw at his chest - at your lack of self respect.

your husband was sticking his dick in a pussy that wasn't yours and you didn't have anything to fucking say about it? he saw the hurt in your eyes in the mirror. grinned at it. hoped today would be the day you'd snap and fight back, but you never did.

he found himself leaving tashis arms angry - angry about coming home to a brick wall and a wife who didn't seem to care what he did.

one night - he found himself drunk after a night out with tashi. sprawled out on his chair as he lazily watched you get dressed for bed.

he found himself hardening in his slacks. dick twitching with interest.

you weren't ugly, was the thing.

you were actually fucking hot. you had a plump sweet little body. you hid it under atrocious modest wear, but he could see it now in the outline of your fat tits outlining your nightgown. the curve of your waist. child bearing hips. he could laugh, if any of this was funny.

he tongued the inside of his cheek as he straightened, watching you.

“you dress like a 1950s housewife.” cutting. meant to embarass you, which he can see it does. he feels a thrill in his chest to get a reaction out of you at all. “it's fucking weird.”

your lips press together - you don't look at him as you uncap your lotion and spread it onto your fingers. “I am a wife.” you tell him softly.

“what was that?” he heard you. he's just annoyed by your mously little voice.

you flick a glance at him, and he sees a flash of irritation on your doll like features. it makes you look pretty, he resents to realize.

“I said I am a wife.” you say, more firmly this time. “just because you don't want to act like a husband doesn't negate what we are - what I am.”

you say it with a sense of pride. a lifting of your chin. and patrick - he has to fucking laugh then. licks his lips and downright giggles with it. his cheeks are flushed with alcohol and he drags himself to his feet, shaking his head.

“you're fucking unreal.” he approaches you, you've turned your back to him - slathering lotion onto your legs, the sweet vanilla scent hits his nostrils as he gets close, and he sways a little. “I mean. are you even real? or are you made out of plastic? did mommy and daddy make you at a factory? the perfect wife factory.” he stops behind you, touches the end strands of your hair, rubs them between his fingers. your hair is fine and soft like silk. it runs like water through his fingers when you tug your head forward.

“of course I'm real.” your voice trembles a little. he's gotten to you, he thinks. and he likes that he has. feels his cock twitch again. “why would you even say that?”

you're finished putting on the lotion but you stay with your back turned to him. he wonders if this is a small act of defiance on your part. he wonders if you were raised to be this fucking submissive and subservient and if any part of you resents it. wishes you could turn around and claw at his face and call him a bastard. but no. that'd actually make the evening interesting. and you were set on being as dull as fucking drywall.

“she's nothing like you, you know.”

he sees your spine stiffens. feels a cruel twist in his stomach that hearing about his mistress upset you.

you don't answer him so he continues, leaning in closer so his breath blows the wisps of your fine hair across your shoulders - “she's firey and confident. she lights up a room when she walks in it, grabs everyone's attention by their throat because she demands it. it's fucking sexy as hell.” he inhales your scent, warm vanilla, sweet and soft. he wants to crush that softness under his foot. crush it to dust. “and god -” he lets his voice get low and seductive, that scratchy quality “- her fucking pussy. it's the best thing I've ever felt. like sliding right into nirvana. I could fuck her for hours -”

your spin around - your eyes are burning. not with tears, though. with fury. they blaze with more life in them than he's ever seen before and it cuts his sentence right off - sucks any further words out of his chest -

“go to her then.” you hiss, venom from your lips. he thinks if it were possible, steam would be seeping from your pores. your cheeks are flushed and your lips are bee stung plump, the indents of your teeth marking the soft flesh. he realizes you'd been literally nawing on your bottom lip to stay quiet. “you think I want to deal with you like this? that I want to deal with a husband like you at all? go to your mistress and bury all your problems in here and leave me alone to run the house and do your job for you. like I've been doing. I don't need you here.”

you turn back around, your hair swishing and smacking him in the face.

he glares at your back. his fingers twitch as an anger worse than he's ever felt boils his blood.

“you can't talk to me like that.” he says, cold and deadly despite the liquid fire running through his veins. “im your fucking husband.”

you laugh - and despite everything - it sounds like bells tinkling. pretty and lyrical. he inhales again. steadies himself with a hand on your vanity.

“you haven't earned that title.” you shake your head as you walk to your side of the bed. you're dismissing him. ending the conversation. “I doubt you even know what the word means - if asked to define it.”

something about the condescending tone - one he'd grown up hearing from his parents lips, from everyone around him who told him he'd fail before he even began. how tashi talked to him sometimes, dismissing him as a privileged kid instead of a person with feelings whenever they disagreed - something about it - he finds himself suddenly in your space - gripping your arm and yanking you back against him -

“you want me to define it?” he asks, sounded half crazed. he rucks your nightgown up, and despite himself, he groans at the feeling of your soft and supple skin - never touched before and new and so fucking good under his hand - “you want me to act like a husband to you?”

he presses himself against your ass, hard and throbbing. he's been hard since he first stood behind you and inhaled your scent. his cock has a goddamn pulse - he can feel the head beating like a drum - fluid bubbling at his slit -

your breath rattles in your chest in a wheeze as you freeze under his touch, you're stiff under his palm and he feels a spark of anger at that - he fucking knows his way around a woman's body - knows how to make someone melt and cry and beg for it -

he shoves you face down on the bed with a hand at your back, comes down over you to straddle your ass on his knees, hands coming down to his belt.

“you want me to be a husband -” he yanks his belt through the loops I'm his jeans harshly, rips his zipper down and reaches in to grip himself where he's hard and hot and thick. “- want me to do my due dillengence and fuck you with my hard cock? fill you with the cum that'll give us an heir and make your life worth living? I can do that for you - pussy's pussy.”

he yanks your nightgown over your ass - grips your bare cheeks and spreads the flesh - bites his tongue till it bleeds at the sight of your small twitching asshole - and under it the wet lips of your cunt.

to combat the way the sight makes him feel, the sudden breathlessness in his chest - he tells you, “my dicks still lubed from fucking her earlier - should slide right in -” and he slots the fat leaking tip of himself at your folds, is just beginning to part that heavenly slick flesh when you curl your hands into the sheets and whisper -

“stop.”

and patrick is alot of things. alot of bad things, he can admit.

but he's not a rapist.

he pauses - hand wrapped around his hard dick - “what -” but you're shoving up suddenly, bucking under him, scrambling and wiggling until you're out from under him and yanking your gown back down over your ass, covering yourself.

he blinks at you, suprised. dick still in his hand.

“I thought you wanted -”

you squeeze your eyes shut and shuffle off the bed, wrap your arms around your body like you want to curl in on yourself.

“not like that.” you tell him. voice a fragile thing. you won't look at him. he softens in his hand, desire sapped from his body at the sight of your distress. “not - not when.” you shake your head. “things are fine how they are. I'm sorry for snapping at you, it was unbecoming. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

and you're gone before he can even tuck himself back into his jeans and think of something to say.

he falls back against the bed and stares at the canopy above him. his throat feels dry. he thinks he should feel victorious. he'd intimidated you. humiliated you. made you feel as small as he feels all the fucking time.

but he doesn't feel satisfied.

he just feels like a dick and a shit husband. he scrubs a hand down his face.

fuck.

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (2)

Summary: Terry and Treece are feeling the sparks again.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,659

Part: 2 of ??

Warnings: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Previous

Grocery shopping was Patrice's private pastime. She was the queen of her universe when she walked through aisles every Saturday morning. Every flash bargain and value-sized item bent to her will for a chance at making it to her humble abode and fulfilling its one purpose in life. Employees greeted her like royalty. Customers started conversations like old friends, always giving her the scoop on any sale they'd overheard in their neighborhood Facebook groups. She was happy. She was zen. She was in her element.

"Do you need this?" 

She was a woman dragging around a large man intent on breaking any modicum of concentration she had left.

Patrice stopped and looked over her shoulder at Terry, who held a bag of cotton candy grapes up in the air for her inspection. "No, TJ. Put it down." 

"Why? You like grapes." 

"Because we're getting grapes from the farmer's market. Now, put it back."

Her rebuke was sweet but stern. Having him as a way too familiar roommate was becoming easier as the days passed. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freedom to go for a walk, watch a movie on the couch, or even enjoy an intimate moment alone in her own house without a man looming somewhere in the very near background. 

He didn't allow her to travel alone, and she never had the energy to protest. 

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," he grumbled as he put the grapes back in their place.

"Then stop acting like one. I have a list. I know what I need." 

"I know what I need." He exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect. 

"You see how that was childish?" 

"Whatever." 

Patrice ignored him in favor of browsing packages of beef for the best deal. If she didn't respond, maybe he would get the hint. And, for a few moments, he did. Terry took a break in conversation to scan the immediate area quietly. He noted each patron and their most important details before checking the exit and entry points at the front of the store. They weren't secure enough, but he could manage if the situation required evacuation.

A lack of action soon turned his attention back to Patrice, who still hadn't decided. He gave her a slow once over and smiled at how much focus she put into such a simple choice. Her brow remained furrowed in intense thought, transforming her into the ninth-grade Patrice he met during a chance encounter in the library. Truthfully, he didn't have much of an opinion either way. He just wanted to talk to her every second of the day, even if it meant being annoying. 

"Get that one." 

His sudden interruption startled Patrice out of her zone, adding a final straw to an already exhausted camel's back. Terry grinned in triumph as she closed her eyes for a calming breath. 

"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register." 

She didn't give him much time to protest before she shoved a carefully torn half of paper into his chest and sent him on his way. He gave her a sarcastic salute, which she waved off without a second look. She needed a moment alone and didn't care if he came back with Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops if that meant he would be out of her hair for more than 10 minutes. 

Terry found himself slowly meandering around the grocery store with a tiny basket in tow, exhausted by all the options on each aisle. If Patrice hadn't been so meticulous with her lists, he would've given up on the mission and gone back to home base with his tail tucked between his legs. 

After sourcing the perfect pint of Oreo ice cream as an apology for his behavior, Terry found himself drawn to the sound of laughter on the next aisle. Sure enough, Patrice was parked by the frozen vegetables and engaged with a man dressed in the store's colors with his eyes directed far too low to be looking at Patrice's face. 

Terry quickly reached her location, stopping behind Patrice to show her guest the full extent of his scowl. 

Patrice noticed how his once loose body language had gone stiff and sighed. She didn't need to investigate the problem. Only her human pitbull could make a man cower in fear like that. 

"Derrick, this is Terry. Terry, this is Derrick. He usually helps me get stuff to my car." 

"Ah, man. It's a good thing I'm here, right? We don't need you taking too many breaks from stocking. Mornin' rush can get crazy." 

"Terry," Patrice admonished with a harsh whisper and an elbow to his stomach. 

Terry remained steadfast, keeping his eyes on Derrick while taking one step closer. A taunting smile tugged on the right side of his mouth. He waited on any sign of fight from his unspoken adversary. 

Derrick stood in palpable discomfort, sizing up the outcomes if he decided to test his luck. Each mental scenario led him back to some instance of physical harm on his last shift of the week. He had plans for the weekend, none involving a trip to the emergency room.

Patrice stood between a rock and a hardheaded man, praying that the Lord would end her suffering.

"That's what I was about to say," Derrick answered before shifting his attention back to Patrice. "I think I oughta get going. See you around, Ms. Ellis?" 

"Same time next week." 

He nodded in half-hearted agreement and hurried out of dodge, with Terry keeping a watchful eye until he was safely around the corner. 

Patrice groaned with one hand, rubbing tight circles at her temple. "What in the hell was that about?" 

"He wouldn't even look you in the eye. If he can't look you in the eye when he's speaking, he can't protect you, and he doesn't respect you." 

"I'm not looking for his protection. I need this water loaded into my trunk every week when you aren't here!" 

"I'll never not be here. Problem solved."

His declaration was so sure, so matter of fact, that it left Patrice no room for retort. So she resorted to schoolyard antics. 

It was her turn to mock him with an exaggerated, deep voice. "Problem solved. Push the damn cart since you got so much energy." 

He obliged without protest and a proud, self-satisfied grin that Patrice couldn't see while she led the way to the register. An unexpected system error had halted all transactions, leaving them log jammed in a long line of restless customers. 

Together, they stood sharing light banter and running through weekend tasks, resembling any other couple making a store run to strangers observing them from the outside looking in. Former acquaintances, however, had no problem drawing attention to the pair from three spots back in line. 

"I know that ain't who I think it is." Both Patrice's and Terry's eyes darted up to find the source of the loud outburst, only to whisper 'fuck’ in tandem when they spotted Katrina Spivey waving her arms to grab their attention. "Hey, Terry Richmond!" 

Terry pretended to ignore being singled out by turning his back, earning a stifled laugh from Patrice. Katrina, not one to be deterred, used the moment to push past patrons in line until she reached her destination with a host of angry faces in her wake. 

"Well, if it ain't Mr. and Miss Homecoming in the flesh. You two finally stopped kidding around and got married?" 

"No," Terry answered without much explanation, his back still turned. Patrice reluctantly made up his slack. 

"What Terry meant to say was that we're not married. We're not together at all, actually. But he's here to visit me for a while." 

"What a blessing it is to have friends you can lean on when you need a helping hand."

"Amen."

An awkward tension settled into the conversation's lull, compounded by Terry's outright refusal to engage. Patrice was in deep water without a paddle and a co-captain who had already jumped ship.

Katrina wouldn't let the conversation end and take her newfound place in line. She continued to pry.

"Both of y'all look good! How long has it been since we last saw each other, huh? Gotta be since Terry's graduation send-off." 

Patrice feigned interest with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I think that was it. A looong time ago. All grown up now."

"And thank God for it! I remember how sad you looked all night because ol' Terry was moving away. Like a little crying puppy!" 

Katrina's laughter didn't quite reach Terry or Patrice, who bristled at mentioning one of the more contentious nights in their friendship. 

"Everybody's been a little young and dumb, right? Like when you and BJ got caught underneath the bleachers during state championships." 

Checkmate. A little reminder of her indiscretions had turned Katrina's condescending smile into a mean mug that could burn through anyone not equally as stubborn. 

Terry showed his approval with a light nudge against Patrice's arm. That was his girl. Sweet as pie but a tongue coated in venom when backed against the wall. He'd been on the receiving end on one too many occasions. It felt good to be on the winning side this time. 

Three seconds of a Western standoff had culminated in a gift sent via store intercom. 

"Apologies for the stoppage, folks. Our registers are back up and running. Thanks for your patience." 

Terry moved the cart to place items on the conveyor belt while Patrice waited for the conversation to resume.

Recovering from the sharp end of a verbal lashing, Katrina cleared her throat and grabbed hold of her cart in preparation to skip lines. 

"Well, I don't wanna hold y'all too much longer. If y'all don't think you're too good to mingle with us Francis High Hornets anymore, Corey's throwing a little Juneteenth gathering at his daddy's pool hall. This is my personal invite for the both of you."

"We were already invited. Maybe we'll make an appearance." 

"That'd be grand." 

"I bet it would."

Nice nasty smiles passed between the two foes until Katrina was off to harass some other unsuspecting patron. 

Patrice tried to let go of her frustration with an angry huff before turning to catch up with Terry, who was casually moving groceries from the bagging station to the shopping basket. He waited a moment before acknowledging the obvious. 

"You over it now, or do I need to iron a shirt for tonight?" 

"I'm over it," Patrice answered plainly. She calmly handed over payment for the day's groceries and smiled ever so sweetly to bid the cashier farewell. To an outsider, she'd returned to her zen state without much effort. Terry was no outsider and kept a cautious eye on her as they loaded bags into the trunk and got settled in the front seat of her SUV. 

"You sure you're good," he asked as he backed out of their parking space. 

"I'm sure, TJ," she answered with almost too much enthusiasm. Terry started a mental countdown for the other shoe to drop. "I'll iron the shirt. You need to shave." 

--------

The final verdict? A plain white T-shirt. 

An hour of searching, choosing, rejecting, and choosing again led them to a plain, crisp white tee. Patrice said it went better with her yellow wrap dress, which she chose because her girlfriends were all in dresses, and she wanted to match the occasion. It all sounded like made-up bullshit to Terry. Still, he accepted being treated like a Ken Doll because it meant that his Barbie would agree to a two-hour hard stop at the festivities. 

He'd already started his stopwatch when they pulled up on a busy street in front of an even busier hole in the wall.

The smell of fresh grease greeted them upon crossing the threshold from outside into Mister C's Bar and Lounge. Fried fish, French fries, and wings in any flavor you could ask for sat in the service window, waiting for their delivery to any one of the patrons packed from wall to cinderblock wall. Terry inhaled deeply and let his scowl drop for one second to fantasize about a bite of Corey Sr.'s signature catfish and fries basket. 

Next came the familiar mix of sweat and weed near the dancefloor as bodies intertwined to some GloRilla song neither of them recognized. Thick traffic in the center of the room paused Patrice on her path to the pool tables, locking her between Terry and a crowd that wouldn't budge. 

"Excuse me!" she shouted over a swell of crowd reaction to a new song. "I need to get by!" 

No response. Not even a look back as she used a hand to create space between her and a group of men debating nonsense. Before she could try again, Terry used one hand to push her forward and his voice to clear the way. 

"Yo, step out of the way. We need to get through." Direct and to the point. He left no room for misinterpretation, and his baritone's boom left no confusion about who was calling the shots. Patrice watched with her lips slightly parted in awe. 

The first reaction to his demand was the embers of confrontation. Each member of the group sized Terry up, noticing his heavy scowl and size in comparison to their own. Then, they realized that this wasn't a winning game. 

The flashiest of the group nodded, though disdain at the mere suggestion that he was in the way kept his mouth in a tight frown. "Yeah, you good, OG. My fault." 

Another light push propelled Patrice forward as Terry maintained with each man until they had passed. 

Once they were out of the mix and nearing their destination, he advised, "Stay close." Patrice nodded her compliance, shocking Terry into a slight smile in appreciation for her obedience. 

Sparks of electricity shot between them but had no time to turn into a total current before Corey called out to them. 

"Treece! Terry! We over here!" 

Surrounded by familiar faces from Francis Edward's Class of 2010, Corey welcomed them with open arms and his ever-present 100-watt smile. At a slight 5'6", 150 on his best day, he'd always been larger than his frame would suggest. Loud and flamboyant had always been the name of his game, earning him anything he set his sights on.

It didn't take long for the trio and Corey's wife, June, to fall into familiar habits and friendly jabs at one another as they took their seats in a makeshift VIP section by the pool tables. The Three-Headed Monster was their moniker in high school, and they moved like a military force. Terry was the enforcer, while Corey and Patrice served as judge and prosecutor. If you had an issue with one, you had an issue with all three. 

"Your security is lax. Who trained them?" Terry pointed out during a dead spot in conversation. 

Corey followed his eyeline to the two young men standing at the door and back. "My boy at the sheriff's office. What you see?" 

"They look soft. It wouldn't take much to overpower them and get in for some drama. You only have one exit. Somebody breeches this place, and you're on the hook for a tragedy. Plus, the one on the left is scared. He'll be the first to leave if things get hot. Watch him."

"Impressive," June remarked, smiling at Patrice, who subtly playfully waved her off.

"Hm." Corey took a long pull from his cigar, taking in the information before responding." You here for a minute, T? I got some connections over at Liberty if you looking to get back in the swing of things." 

"Contract?" 

"Whatever you need, man. You know I'm good for it."

Terry looked over at Patrice for some indication that she believed in Corey, and she returned with a subtle nod and encouraging smile. June looked between them and then at her husband before clearing her throat. 

"It looks like Kel and his boy are back on the pool table. You know he still owes you a game from when he cheated last week." 

"Hell yeah," Corey agreed as he turned in his seat to get a look at his enemy. "Aye, T, you trynna make $100 real quick?" 

"It's either that or you gotta come dance with me," Patrice challenged. "This rum and pineapple got me feeling a little loose." 

She wasn't lying. A taste of alcohol in her system was starting to make her want to explore parts of the Patrice she thought she left at North Carolina A&T. Every heart-rattling thump of Megan Thee Stallion's latest and greatest had her thinking about reminding everyone in the room that she could move with the best of them. 

Her little grind in her seat made Terry show teeth in a small grin before he stood to his full height and looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dreamy from some combination of exhaustion and a contact high, reintroducing that spark from before.

"Don't go too far. I'll be back with your money in a little bit." 

Patrice's tongue felt too heavy to respond coherently past a punch-drunk nod. June watched her watch him make his way down the platform and into the crowd until both men were out of earshot. 

She whistled and shook her head. "That's a good-looking man, ain't he?" 

"Who? Corey? He alright. He's like a slightly more attractive Taye Diggs." 

"First off, ouch," June laughed. "Second, I was talking about Terry. He was cute in high school, but I'll be damned if that second puberty didn't take him to a whole 'nother level." 

"Don't tell him that. His head is big enough."

"You know you wrong for that." If the music weren't so loud, everyone in the building would've heard the pair guffawing over Patrice's petty insult. 

Once they contained themselves, June took a sip from her margarita and shifted in her seat to get closer to Patrice.

"He likes you still." Five plain words shook Patrice internally as she struggled to maintain a poker face. June continued. "I see the way he looks for your approval and damn near trips on himself to fulfill your every whim. You're all he talks about when he and Corey get on the phone." 

"They talk?" 

"From time to time. I think he needs a man's opinion sometimes, you know?" 

Patrice wrestled with the influx of information as June continued. 

"That man is mean as a snake. Always has been and always will be. But, you bring something out of him. Even if you can't always see it." 

"If that were the case, things would've been different for us back then." 

June shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're right where you're supposed to be. I know I can't make you do what you don't wanna do, but if what I say means anything, focus on today. Thirty-two-year-old Terry is so much more prepared to love you than eighteen-year-old Terry was." 

Punctuating her advice, June tapped Patrice's leg twice before taking a step away to refill their tray of food. 

Focus on today.

The words replayed in her mind repeatedly; even after their two hours were up, Terry had returned $100 richer, and they were back on the road to their quiet slice of the world. 

They rode together in content quiet, letting the Quiet Storm host talk while Terry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. 

Randomly, he would glance in her direction, assuming she had lost the sleep battle to her old friend Bacardi. When he reached over to adjust the air vent on her side of the car, he was surprised when she mumbled a low "thank you." 

"My bad. I thought you were sleeping." 

"No. My head is swimming, though. Don't let me drink that much anymore." she laughed. 

He chuckled along with her but didn't agree to keep her from letting her hair down occasionally. In his eyes, seeing her relaxed and carefree was a gift to the world. 

The opening notes of Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready" swirled around them, sounding like a secret message to Patrice as she focused on streetlights to keep the contents of her dinner inside her stomach. 

"Hey," she whispered before she could catch herself. Terry acknowledged her with a glance. "Do you think you're still scared?" 

"Of what?" 

"Of whatever kept you away for so long?"

He thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he was clear with his word. "No. I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of bringing you along for a ride I might not survive. That's not a threat anymore. So, no, I'm not scared anymore."

You know I'm ready

To love you

Forever 

Patrice reached across the center console until she reached Terry's hand to interlock her fingers with his. He gave her an appreciative squeeze without taking his eyes off the road. 

"I-I don't think I'm scared anymore either."

Her heart raced wildly behind her ribs, and Patrice was that if Terry pressed his wrist close enough to hers, he could feel her pulse accelerate. He didn't mind either way. Sweaty palms and trembling fingers would never be enough for him to let her go. Not again. 

As if she'd break if he moved too fast, Terry brought her hand to his lips slowly. One kiss. Another. Two more. And a final one for good measure. 

When he'd had his fill of her skin, he pressed the spot up against his cheek. He needed to feel and absorb her until they were one body. 

But, for tonight at least, this was enough.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse

[kiame-sama]

Drag Me to Hell- (Yandere!Alastor x Chubby!Reader) pt. 3

Warnings; spoilers for episode 5 of Hazbin Hotel, yandere relationship, yandere temper, yandere behavior, toxic relationship, Alastor is not fond of disobedience, don't make deals with demons,

~~~~~~~~

"Good talk, chum!"

Alastor hummed as he moved towards the shadows, leaving behind a shaking and terrified Husker. There were many words that could be used to describe Alastor and none were more fitting than terrifying.

None knew this better than you.

"Husker," you started, emerging from where you had been waiting down the hall, "are you okay?"

The hellcat tried to pull himself together quickly and brush you off, but his shaking betrayed how truly afraid he was. When Alastor wanted to put terror into others, he didn't need to work very hard to accomplish his goal.

"Why the Hell d'you care? You're his fuckin' favorite, the fuck you know about it?"

You knew he was lashing out to protect himself, but the words almost managed to make you flinch. Luckily for the both of you, you didn't and you kept a level head. If he had seen... Still, you wanted to try and comfort the fellow lost soul ensnared by your eternal captor.

"Husker, listen to me."

Something about your firm tone made the demon pause, an almost confused and unsettled expression on his face. It was rare that you became so serious and pleading with anyone, let alone tried to actually talk to anyone for extended periods of time. Something about your tone made him want to take whatever you were going to say seriously.

"You may think you know the limits of his patience but you don't. I know them. I have seen more than you know and have been by his side for longer than you may expect. I can never share these things. I can never tell anyone what I have heard and seen. Those memories are not my secrets to share. But I can tell you some of the terms of my contact, and I hope you understand and take heed."

You were choosing your words carefully, knowing that you could only say so much before the fine-print of your contract with Alastor silenced you. Parroting one of the key lines of your contract even as you navigated your way through the red-tape and fine print. Alastor made sure to create a rather finely crafted contract to outline your deal with him and you had plenty of time to read over it again and again.

"Expected and Required are the same thing. I am expected to remain by Alastor's side until he doesn't want me to be. I am expected to do what is asked of me by Alastor and no one else. I am expected to keep what I see and hear a secret unless Alastor wishes for me to speak on the matter. I am expected to remember the primary terms of every contract I have seen. And I have to say, Husker, I know better than anyone what chains can bind some overlords."

Husker seemed confused for a moment before his eyes flashed with recognition before shifting to curiosity. You could only hope that he gathered the information you wanted to give him without having directly said it.

"You were there for my deal, weren't you?"

"I cannot say. Those are not my secrets to share."

"But where were you? I thought it was just me an' him. Unless... Hells, you're his microphone, aren't you?"

"I am expected to be by his side until he doesn't want me to be."

"You've been around long enough to see my deal, you must have seen so many other deals too. Why do you stay with him? Ain't there any kind of freedom to your deal?"

"My deal was made to keep me safe from other demons. It... Evolved into what it is now. I stay safe and in return I do as my deal says, no questions. That is what I agreed to. Look, Husker, all I am saying is your leash could be tighter, your chains could be heavier, and you could have far less freedoms than you have now. Don't squander it over someone like Mimzy."

"I just know she is bad news! But he won't listen."

"I know she is bad news too and I admit, I hate her. Every time she shows up she uses him and thinks she has some kind of control over him because he lets her get away with this nonsense."

You sighed and tried to smile at Husker, feeling the wry and strained grin become more of a grimace. It was true that you strongly disliked the woman that only appeared when she needed help and you knew she didn't like you either. Mimzy had obvious feelings for Alastor and she hated the fact that you were close to him when she so desperately wanted to be in your place.

"Husker, I can't say I like you- he doesn't like competition of any kind- but I don't want you killed or hurt. You are a better person than you claim to be and we both know it. Just know that though he doesn't like your tone, he does hear you and your concerns."

"Listen, (y/n), maybe if we talk to Charlie about your deal, she can-"

You sharply stood from where you had been kneeling by his side, already knowing where the conversation was going and not wanting either of you to get hurt by the blowback. If Husker finished his sentence, odds are Alastor would not hesitate to rip his soul to shreds for daring to try and break the deal you had. There was no way you were going to let such a thing happen and that meant you had to make it clear to Husker as well.

"No. I am happy with my deal. I would never say anything to the contrary or try to get out of my deal with Alastor. Besides, I have seen too much and know too much for him to ever let me go peacefully. That level of blood and retribution is far too high a price. Don't suggest it again, Husker, or we will both be in trouble for it. Please, just trust me to-"

The way your voice died in your throat with a slight choke let the demon know you said as much as you could. Though there was more you wished to say, you could feel your own leash tighten in a clear warning and you knew then he had been listening. Odds are, Alastor had been listening to the whole thing and he was not pleased with your attempts to get around his gag order. It was also clear to you that Alastor was likely testing you by letting Husker get as far as he did in his questioning.

A chill ran down your back and you saw your fellow demon's eyes widen as he stared behind you. The clawed hand of the Radio Demon rest on your shoulder, his head leaning over so you could barely see his threatening grin in your peripheral view. You could feel his shadows crawling over your skin and around you as he casually asserted control over both you and Husker.

"Now, now. Whatever could you two possibly be discussing? It wouldn't happen to be about the rules you know you can't discuss, right?"

"Of course not, Alastor. We both know that they aren't my secrets to share even if I wanted to, which I don't. I am simply informing him from one damned soul to another that trying to rile you is a bad idea."

A soft growl could be heard from Alastor and you could feel the slight brush of his antlers against your head as his annoyance grew. As far as you knew, you hadn't said anything to upset him and you had not breached the terms of your contract. But the way his hand tightened on your shoulder told you Alastor was unhappy about something and you were terrified what that would mean for Husker.

"I have told you what to call me many times now, (y/n). I do not appreciate your continued failure to heed my instruction."

It then dawned on you why Alastor was irritated and in some ways it was ridiculous to you. He was upset because you called him Alastor and not a pet name as he had requested. Honestly, you had forgotten entirely about something so trivial, but you also knew Alastor was a stickler for details.

"Dear, I feel there is a time and place for terms of endearment and they have no place in serious discussion."

"That is for me to decide and you to obey. Do not presume such things again, Sugar. Now, what is this about you hating Mimzy?"

"She is only here to try and use you, we all know that. I don't like her casual attempts at controlling you and I know she dislikes me as well."

"I don't care what she thinks of you, it is not her decision if I keep you with me or not. Now, I would hope you know better than to question me, because I doubt you want to spend another half a decade locked away again. Do I make myself clear, Honey?"

"... Yes, Darling."

Alastor was quick to disappear once more into shadow, leaving both you and Husker to stare at one another in silence. You both knew he likely didn't go far and that he was always watching whatever it was you chose to do. With this constant observation in mind, you did your best to keep your actions to a minimum and to keep any backlash from hurting Husker.

"We both know what our place is. It would be best that we don't question it. I'm truly sorry for the pain you feel, Husker, but we made our choices. Be happy your choice gives you some kind of freedom."

[novaursa]

Web of Gold (the final choice)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: This is the final part of this story. Just embrace the chaos.

Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: rook's rest

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995 @thisbiann @whiteoakoak @deemee33

The courtyard of the Red Keep was quiet, save for the distant hum of activity near the training yard. You had just finished spending time with Aegon in his chambers—an exhausting visit, but one you knew was necessary. His strength was slowly returning, but the scars of Rook’s Rest, both physical and emotional, still lingered on him like a second skin.

You’d barely stepped into the fresh air when you noticed Aemond standing near a large clearing, his tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun. And looming beside him, unmistakable in her sheer size and ancient majesty, was Vhagar.

Your heart sank.

Aemond’s stance was stiff, his single eye fixed on you with that familiar intensity. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not as a threat, but as if he needed something to anchor himself. As you approached, the massive dragon let out a low rumble, her great, scaly head turning ever so slightly to regard you, like a cat considering whether or not to bother with a mouse.

“Aemond,” you began cautiously, “what are you doing?”

He stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor masking whatever storm was brewing inside him. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You and I. Together.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Leaving? To where?”

“Harrenhal,” Aemond replied without missing a beat, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve taken control of the keep. It’s secure, far from the prying eyes of court. Far from… distractions.” The word hung in the air, thick with meaning. You didn’t have to guess what—or rather, who—those distractions were.

You crossed your arms, staring at him as though he’d just suggested flying to the moon. “You want me to leave Aegon and our children and just… run off with you to Harrenhal?”

Aemond’s expression hardened. “Aegon is a shadow of the man he once was,” he said coldly, though there was a flicker of something softer behind his words. “He can’t offer you anything anymore. But I can. I’ve done everything for you, Y/N—everything. We can be free of this place, free of him.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You think I can just abandon my family? Aegon might be… changed, but he’s still my husband. And our children—what of them?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, clearly frustrated that you weren’t seeing things his way. “They’ll be safe here. You and I, we belong together. You know that.”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your temper in check. It wasn’t that Aemond’s offer wasn’t tempting on some level—there was a part of you that did feel drawn to him, that had felt the pull of something more between you. But this? This was madness.

“Aemond,” you said firmly, taking a step toward him, “I’m not leaving Aegon. And I’m certainly not leaving our children. You need to understand that.”

He frowned, his eye narrowing as he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Why? What can Aegon give you now? I’m offering you everything. We can start over, away from this cursed place. You don’t have to play the dutiful wife anymore.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to resist the urge to snap at him. “Aemond, I am Aegon’s wife. And those children you want me to leave behind? They’re mine. I’m not just going to run off into the sunset with you and pretend none of this exists.”

Aemond’s frustration was palpable now, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m offering you freedom. A life that isn’t weighed down by him.”

You glanced at Vhagar, who was watching the entire exchange with an almost bored expression, her massive eyes blinking slowly, as if she were above all this petty human drama. You turned back to Aemond, crossing your arms and giving him a sharp look.

“Aemond,” you said with a sigh, “I’m not getting on that dragon.”

He stared at you, incredulous. “You refuse?”

“I refuse,” you repeated firmly, your voice steady. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to—like making sure my children are taken care of.”

Aemond’s eye blazed with a mix of anger and desperation, but before he could say anything more, you turned toward Vhagar, who was still looming in the background, waiting for her rider’s command.

You waved a hand at the ancient dragon, much like one would shoo away a stray cat lounging on a cushion it had no business being on. “Shoo, Vhagar. Go on, off you go. Go take a nap or something.”

Vhagar let out a deep, rumbling huff, her massive head tilting slightly as she regarded you with something that almost resembled amusement. After a moment, the dragon shifted, her wings rustling as she slowly lumbered back a few paces, clearly in no hurry to follow your orders—but still, she moved.

Aemond stared at you, utterly speechless, as you casually waved off the largest, most powerful dragon in Westeros like it was a lazy cat that had overstayed its welcome.

“You can’t be serious,” he muttered, his voice tight with disbelief.

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow. “Aemond, I love you, but I’m not abandoning my life. You’ll have to figure out another way to deal with your issues that doesn’t involve kidnapping me and flying off to Harrenhal.”

Aemond’s face remained unreadable for a moment, his eye searching yours for something—some sign that you might change your mind. But you didn’t budge.

Finally, he let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But this isn’t over.”

You nodded, watching as he turned back to Vhagar, who seemed almost reluctant to leave the scene of such entertainment. Aemond mounted the great dragon, his jaw tight, but there was a flicker of something resigned in his gaze as he glanced back at you one last time.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said quietly, before Vhagar took to the skies, her massive wings beating against the wind as she soared away from the Red Keep.

You stood there for a moment, watching him go, a mixture of relief and sadness settling over you. The temptation Aemond offered had been real, but so was your life here. You had made your choice.

With a sigh, you turned back toward the Keep, your mind already shifting to thoughts of Aegon and your children. The drama with Aemond would have to wait for another day.

The throne room of the Red Keep was a tense place, filled with an eerie quiet as the skies outside darkened. The heavy doors to the chamber had been bolted shut, as though they alone could keep the inevitable at bay. Aegon, though burned and scarred, sat upon the Iron Throne, his face pale but determined. The ordeal of simply climbing the steps to the throne had been an exhausting one, and though he was seated now, he leaned heavily against the jagged iron, every breath a visible effort.

You stood at his side, watching him with a mixture of concern and admiration. He was stubborn, that much was clear—too proud to abandon his throne even now, when defeat seemed to hang in the air like a storm waiting to break. Behind you, your children stood close, their young faces filled with confusion and fear. The Red Keep had always been a fortress, a place of safety, but now it felt like a trap.

Alicent stood just a few paces away, her face drawn tight with determination, though you could see the flicker of fear in her eyes. She hovered near Helaena, who sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap as she murmured something to herself, her eyes unfocused as they often were when things became too overwhelming.

The sound of Syrax and Caraxes had been heard earlier, their roars echoing through the city like the gods themselves had descended upon King's Landing. The sky had been filled with the telltale shadow of dragons, and now, the doors to the throne room felt more like a countdown than a barrier.

Alicent, her voice sharp and unyielding, broke the silence. “We cannot give up hope,” she insisted, though her tone wavered slightly. She looked at Aegon, then to you, as if trying to will you both to share her belief. “Aemond will return from Harrenhal. He will. We sent the raven just as the dragons were spotted on the horizon.”

You glanced at Aegon, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, there was an unspoken conversation between you—one built on shared glances over the years, one that said more than words ever could. The truth was as plain as day: Aemond was not coming in time. No raven, no dragon, no battle-hardened brother was going to sweep in and save the day.

Aegon’s lips curled slightly, his scarred face twisting into something between a grimace and a smile. He leaned toward you, his voice low. “She still believes, even now.”

You shook your head, trying to suppress the wry smile threatening to form. “Aegon,” you said quietly, “this has gone on long enough.”

Alicent’s head snapped toward you, her expression tight with disbelief. “What do you mean? This is our duty. We must hold this city. We cannot simply—”

“Alicent,” you interrupted softly but firmly, your gaze meeting hers. “It’s over. We’ve fought this fight for far too long, and look where it’s brought us.” You gestured to Aegon, sitting on the Iron Throne, barely able to keep himself upright, a shadow of the man he once was. “The children—our children—deserve better than this endless war.”

Alicent stared at you, her eyes wide with something like betrayal, but beneath that, you could see the cracks in her resolve. The truth had been gnawing at all of them, and now it was finally forcing its way to the surface.

Before she could respond, the heavy doors of the throne room creaked open. The sound echoed through the hall, sending a chill down your spine as you turned to face what was coming. The chamber seemed to hold its breath as a group of armored men entered, their steps measured and purposeful. And at the head of them, with her head held high and her eyes blazing with determination, was Rhaenyra Targaryen.

She looked every bit the queen she had always been meant to be, her black and red gown billowing behind her like the wings of a dragon. Beside her strode Daemon, his usual swagger ever-present, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister. Behind them, their men filled the room, a silent but unmistakable display of power.

For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. The air was thick with tension, the kind that comes right before a storm breaks.

Aegon’s hand gripped the arm of the throne tightly, the sound of his breath ragged as he leaned forward slightly. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a rasp, “here we go.”

You stood by his side, your hand resting gently on his, as you both braced for whatever came next.

The silence hung like a blade in the air as Rhaenyra’s eyes locked onto yours next. For a moment, everything seemed frozen, save for the flickering torches.

You took a deep breath, your hand slipping from Aegon’s as you stepped forward, toward Rhaenyra. Her guards bristled, their hands twitching toward their swords, but Rhaenyra held up a hand, stopping them in their tracks. Daemon, however, remained still, his sharp gaze never leaving you, though his lips curled into an amused smirk, as if the whole scene was nothing more than a game to him.

“Y/N,” Alicent’s voice rang out sharply from behind you, filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief. “What are you doing? Come back. You can’t—”

But you didn’t stop. You met Rhaenyra’s gaze head-on, your heart pounding in your chest, but your voice steady. “I’m trying to end this madness, Alicent,” you said softly, but loud enough for the room to hear. “For all of us.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked to Alicent for a moment, then back to you, her brow arching slightly, though she didn’t move. Behind her, Daemon’s smirk grew wider, though he still didn’t relax, his hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword as if expecting things to turn violent at any moment.

“Brave,” Daemon drawled, his voice filled with amusement. “Approaching a dragon in its den.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve been living with one for years now, Daemon. You’re hardly the first dragon I’ve faced.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, as if she were suppressing a smile herself, but she stayed silent, waiting to see what you would say next.

You took a deep breath and stopped a few paces from her, your voice calm but firm. “This has gone on long enough, Rhaenyra. The war, the bloodshed, the endless fighting. There’s been enough loss. I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, though her expression remained measured. “A deal?” she asked, her voice cool but curious. “And what, exactly, are you offering?”

You straightened, feeling the weight of the room’s eyes on you—Aegon, Alicent, Helaena, Rhaenyra, and even Daemon, all waiting for your next move.

“I want to take Aegon, our children, and my family back to Casterly Rock,” you said evenly. “Let us go, and we’ll never trouble you again. Aegon will renounce his claim to the throne. We’ll stay out of the way, and you can rule in peace.”

A ripple of surprise passed through the room, though no one spoke. Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though she were weighing the offer in her mind.

“And what guarantee do I have that your husband,” she gestured toward Aegon with a slight tilt of her head, “won’t attempt some foolish rebellion once he’s licked his wounds?”

You smiled, glancing back at Aegon, who was doing his best to sit up straight, though it was clear the effort was taking its toll. “I think,” you said wryly, “that Aegon has had enough of wars for a lifetime. Isn’t that right, love?”

Aegon managed a weak, sardonic grin from the Iron Throne. “Aye,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but laced with bitter humor. “I think I’ve had my fill of conquest. The Iron Throne’s overrated anyway—too damned uncomfortable.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched again, though her gaze remained steady. Behind her, Daemon chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“Aegon swears,” you continued, your tone firm, “on the lives of his children, that he will never challenge you again. We’ll live quietly in the West, away from court, away from politics. Let us go, and you’ll have one less enemy to deal with.”

For a long moment, Rhaenyra said nothing. The room held its collective breath as she studied you, her eyes flicking to Aegon, then back to you. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than before.

“You would leave the capital? Leave the realm behind?”

You nodded. “We would. For our children’s sake, if nothing else.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, just a fraction, and for the first time since she had entered the room, you saw something almost like understanding in her eyes. She, too, was a mother. She knew the weight of protecting her children.

But before she could respond, Alicent’s voice cut through the tension once more, her tone sharp and desperate. “You can’t—we can’t give up the throne so easily! Aegon is the rightful king. You have a duty—”

You turned to Alicent, your voice firm but gentle. “Alicent, it’s over. The Iron Throne has brought nothing but pain to this family. It’s time to let go.”

Alicent looked at you, her eyes wide, her lips trembling as if she wanted to argue further, but the words wouldn’t come. She knew, deep down, that you were right. The fight was over, and all that was left was survival.

Rhaenyra shifted, her voice calm but firm. “Very well,” she said at last, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “You may leave. Take Aegon, take your children, and go to Casterly Rock. But know this—if any whisper of rebellion reaches my ears, if Aegon so much as thinks of challenging me again, I will burn Casterly Rock to the ground.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Agreed.”

Daemon, still leaning lazily against his sword, raised an eyebrow. “A generous offer, Rhaenyra,” he murmured, though there was still that unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. “Though I wouldn’t mind a little rebellion. Keeps things interesting.”

Rhaenyra shot him a warning look, but there was a faint smile playing at her lips. “That won’t be necessary, Daemon.”

You exhaled, the weight of the moment crashing down on you as you realized that you had done it. You had secured safety for your family—for now, at least.

Rhaenyra turned toward the throne, her eyes flicking to Aegon once more, her voice quiet but resolute. “The Iron Throne is mine.”

Aegon, still slumped in the chair, managed a dry laugh. “It always was, Rhaenyra. Enjoy it. I’m off to more comfortable seats.”

With that, Rhaenyra signaled to her men, and the room began to empty, the weight of the war falling away as the path to peace finally opened.

And as you stood there, beside Aegon, with your family behind you, you couldn’t help but feel a small, bittersweet sense of relief. The fight was over. At least, for now.

Casterly Rock had never been this lively. The towering, ancient fortress perched above the waves of the Sunset Sea now echoed with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Since your family’s relocation from King’s Landing, Aegon had been enjoying himself far more than anyone expected. It was as though the Iron Throne and its sharp, uncomfortable spikes had sucked the joy out of him, and now, finally free, he was having the time of his life.

You stood on a wide balcony overlooking the sprawling, sun-drenched landscape, watching Aegon as he lounged on a luxurious settee, a goblet of wine in hand, looking far more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. The children played nearby, their laughter filling the air. Every so often, Aegon would turn to them with a lazy grin and shout something like, “Go on, you little lions! Show them how a real dragon roars!” before collapsing into a fit of chuckles.

Aegon had taken to life at Casterly Rock like a duck to water. His once pale, sickly complexion was now kissed by the sun, and his spirits were high. He reveled in the wealth, the ease, the freedom from responsibility. As for you, the newfound peace and tranquility of Casterly Rock were a blessing—no more politics, no more war. Just wine, family, and the occasional feast that Aegon insisted on hosting for any Lannister cousins who would visit.

The only downside? Alicent.

Despite all the opulence, all the relaxation, Alicent Hightower stood by the balcony, arms crossed, her face set in a permanent frown, as though every bit of merriment was a personal affront. She had insisted on coming to Casterly Rock with you, despite your gentle suggestion that she might want to stay in King’s Landing. Since arriving, she had maintained her usual demeanor—watchful, tense, and, most of all, annoyed by the sheer joy Aegon was taking in his new life.

You couldn’t help but watch her with a mixture of amusement and concern. For days now, she had been pacing, her disapproval palpable. Finally, you could no longer resist, and with a light laugh, you approached her.

“Lady Alicent,” you began sweetly, though there was a teasing edge to your voice, “you’ve been frowning since we arrived. We’re in one of the most beautiful places in Westeros, Aegon is practically glowing with health, and yet…” You gestured to her stiff posture and furrowed brow. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Alicent turned to you, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I simply don’t see how you can all be so… carefree,” she muttered, her gaze drifting back toward Aegon, who had now joined the children in some impromptu game that involved a great deal of roaring and chasing. “The world is still full of dangers.”

You sighed, leaning against the stone balcony rail. “Alicent, we’ve left King’s Landing, we’ve left the politics behind. You can relax. You’re not responsible for every move made in the realm anymore. Why not just… go back to Oldtown? Spend time with your family there. You don’t have to stay here with us if it makes you uncomfortable.”

To your surprise, Alicent’s expression changed—not into the indignant scowl you expected, but into something far more vulnerable. Her brows knitted together, and she looked away from you, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it.

“I can’t,” she said softly.

You blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Alicent let out a breath, her hands gripping the edge of the balcony as though she needed something to hold onto. “I’ve spent my whole life in the capital. I’ve always had responsibilities—whether it was to my father, to my children, or to the realm. But now…” She hesitated, the words seeming to stick in her throat. “Now that the war is over, now that Aegon has given up the throne… I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Her admission was so unexpected that for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. Alicent Hightower, the woman who had spent her life controlling, organizing, and managing everything around her, was lost now that there was nothing left to manage. She had always been defined by her duty—first to Viserys, then to Aegon, and now… well, now, she wasn’t sure what her place was.

You softened, moving closer to her. “Alicent,” you said gently, “you don’t need to have a grand purpose anymore. You’ve done your part. You’ve raised your children, you’ve kept the realm together through chaos. You’ve earned the right to rest.”

Alicent shook her head, her lips pressing tighter together. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just… relax. I’ve never had that luxury.”

You studied her for a moment, trying to find the right words. “You’ve never had that luxury because you’ve never let yourself have it. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders for so long, but look around.” You gestured toward Aegon, who had now flopped onto the ground, dramatically claiming defeat as your children pounced on him in victory. “He’s happy. The children are happy. The realm is moving forward without us. Maybe it’s time to let go.”

Alicent looked at you, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and uncertainty, as though the very idea of letting go was as foreign to her as flying a dragon.

“Besides,” you added with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood, “we’ve got all the wine in the world here at Casterly Rock. It’s a shame to waste it on just Aegon.”

Alicent let out a small, reluctant laugh, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I suppose there’s no harm in enjoying a little peace,” she admitted, though there was still a hint of doubt in her voice.

You smiled warmly, placing a hand on her arm. “There’s no harm at all. In fact, I think it’s exactly what you need.”

For a moment, you thought you’d gotten through to her. But then, Aegon—who had clearly been eavesdropping—shouted from the other side of the courtyard, “Yes, Mother! Embrace the wine! It’s the only thing keeping me alive!”

You shot Aegon a mock glare, but he just grinned, hoisting a goblet in the air as the children cheered beside him.

Alicent sighed, but this time there was a hint of amusement in her expression. “Perhaps I’ll take a glass,” she muttered, shaking her head as she walked toward the open courtyard, leaving you smiling in her wake.

As you watched her go, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of victory. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Casterly Rock had a way of working its charm on everyone—even the most stubborn of people.

The castle of Casterly Rock had settled into a comfortable routine. The golden sunlight streamed through the windows, and for once, all was peaceful—well, until the thunderous roar of Vhagar pierced the air, shaking the very stones of the ancient fortress.

The sound was enough to rattle even the sturdiest of Lannisters, and Sunfyre, who had been dozing lazily near the cliffs, let out a high-pitched screech that reverberated through the castle, startling everyone awake. Servants rushed to and fro, muttering curses under their breath about “all these damned dragons,” while Aegon groggily sat up from his luxurious bed, blinking in confusion.

“What in seven hells is that racket?” Aegon mumbled, rubbing his eyes, still not fully awake.

You, already half-dressed, sighed as you glanced out the window to see the unmistakable silhouette of Vhagar landing near the cliffs, her massive wings stirring up dust and sending anyone in the vicinity scrambling for cover. “Looks like your brother has come to visit,” you said dryly.

Aegon groaned, throwing himself back onto the bed. “Of course, it’s Aemond. Couldn’t send a raven like a normal person, could he? No, he has to drop in with Vhagar and scare half the bloody castle.”

Just as you were pulling on your gown, the door to your chamber flew open, revealing a very irritated Lord Jason Lannister, his usually impeccable hair disheveled, his face flushed with annoyance. “What now?” Jason snapped, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of a man who had been woken up one too many times by dragons lately. “First, Sunfyre’s been keeping half the keep awake with his screeching, and now Vhagar arrives like a bloody storm? How many dragons are you lot hiding in this castle?”

You smiled sweetly at Jason, though you couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Come now, Uncle. Surely you, of all people, are used to hosting royal guests.”

Jason threw his hands up in exasperation. “Not this many. And certainly not ones that come with wingspans larger than my dining hall!”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice echoed through the halls. “Where is he?”

Aemond strode into the room, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he entered, his eye cold and unreadable as always. He glanced at you briefly, his expression impassive, but there was an unmistakable heaviness in the air. You could feel his gaze linger for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned his attention to Aegon, who was still sprawled out on the bed like he’d been woken from the dead.

“Aegon,” Aemond said, his voice steady and calm. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Aegon blinked up at him, his face scrunched in confusion. “Goodbye? What do you mean, goodbye? You’re not going anywhere.”

Aemond’s eye flickered with something—perhaps frustration, perhaps regret—but he kept his expression neutral. “I’m leaving for Pentos. It’s time.”

Aegon sat up slightly, still perplexed. “Pentos? What in the seven hells are you going to do in Pentos? And why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Aemond crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “Because it’s not your decision to make, brother. My place is elsewhere now.”

Aegon scratched his head, clearly still half-asleep and utterly confused. “Didn’t we talk about this already? Why does everyone keep leaving for Pentos? Am I missing something?”

You placed a comforting hand on Aegon’s shoulder, smiling at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, love. You’re not missing anything important. Aemond’s just… moving on to new things.” You gave Aemond a pointed look, silently communicating that whatever unresolved issues he had could stay unresolved.

Aemond’s eye met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered there—something ambiguous, something unspoken. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen that look, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. But now wasn’t the time for lingering glances and hidden meanings.

Aegon, oblivious as ever, looked between you and Aemond with a puzzled expression. “Moving on? To what? A vacation in Pentos?” He let out a snort of laughter. “I didn’t realize you were the relaxing type, brother.”

Aemond, unamused, simply inclined his head. “It’s not a vacation. But yes, you could say I’m… finding new opportunities.”

Aegon waved a hand lazily. “Whatever you say. Just don’t go burning any cities while you’re there.”

Aemond’s lips twitched ever so slightly, but he said nothing, instead offering a final, silent nod. His gaze lingered on you once more—just a heartbeat longer—before he turned on his heel and left the room, his boots echoing against the stone as he strode out, leaving the tension in the air behind him.

As soon as Aemond was gone, Aegon let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head. “Pentos,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What is it with people and Pentos these days?”

You smiled at him, patting his cheek playfully. “Don’t worry about it, love. He’ll be fine, and so will we.”

Aegon blinked up at you, clearly still half-dazed. “But why did he look at you like that? Am I missing something?”

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, your voice dripping with affection as you reassured him. “You’re not missing anything, Aegon. You’re the most important person here. Let Aemond run off to Pentos. We have everything we need right here.” You smiled sweetly, love-bombing him with all the tenderness he adored.

Aegon beamed up at you, his confusion melting away as he basked in your affection. “You’re right,” he said, his voice warming. “We’re doing just fine, aren’t we?”

You nodded, giving him a look that was both teasing and sincere. “More than fine. We have the sun, the sea, our family, and all the wine you could ever want.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly enamored as always, and leaned back into the cushions with a contented sigh. “Gods, you really do know how to make a man feel like a king, don’t you?”

You smirked, pouring him another goblet of wine. “It’s my specialty.”

As Aegon took the goblet and smiled up at you with that adoring, slightly dazed look in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. Whatever had happened at Rook’s Rest, whatever tension still lingered between you and Aemond—it didn’t matter now. Aegon was happy, and for the first time in a long while, life at Casterly Rock was peaceful. Well, mostly peaceful—aside from the occasional dragon roaring at dawn, of course.

[callme-holly]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could please do the outsiders gang with a little Curtis sister!reader? Like readers a year younger than ponyboy? Also can it be hc’s please?

'𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫' [𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - Ahhhhh, i literally love this concept so much. Hope ya'll enjoy and as always my asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 671 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - none!!

The gang are so protective of you oh my god

You may only be a year younger than Pony but they will still bend over backwards to ensure that you are safe.

You are Darry’s whole world. He cares about you so much that it’s almost suffocating. If anything happens to you, you best believe he is sticking up for you in a heartbeat.

Sometimes it can get a little frustrating. The boys will baby you and you will have to stand your ground when they get a little too much.

You are never allowed to walk home alone, and I mean never. There will always be someone there to walk you to and from wherever it is you need to go. It’s dangerous out there and they will not risk you being jumped.

Speaking of which, if you did ever happen to get jumped, the gang is by your side in seconds. Dallas, Steve, and Darry will literally put someone in the hospital for you if need be.

You give the boys a run for their money. If they get put on “baby-sitting” duty you show them pretty quickly that you don’t need looking after.

Sodapop is your best friend and you can’t tell me otherwise. He’s that person you can go to when you’ve got a problem and actually feel comforted afterwards. He’ll take you to the DX with him and let you help out as well as letting you take whatever you want from the store. Steve doesn’t really like it (he’s jealous that you’re stealing away his best friend) but he warms up to you being around after a while.

Going to the movies with Ponyboy and hanging out in the lot with him and Johnny after!!

If you think Darry is hard on Pony, just wait until you get home a few minutes past curfew. He will go mental. Like I said, he cares a whole lot about you and isn’t gonna have your future wasted. Sure, he has near impossible expectations for you a lot of the time, but just talk to him and he’ll try to go easy.

The other kids at school hardly ever mess with you. They’ve seen how scary your brothers and the rest of the gang are and they really aren’t looking to be spending their days in hospital.

If you’re struggling in classes, Pony will drop everything to help you out. You will both sit and study until Darry is on your ass about getting to bed.

Sometimes the gang can be a little too protective. It’s suffocating having to have someone with you everywhere you go and while they mean well you have had multiple arguments with them about how you can take care of yourself.

Dallas has definitely taught you how to fight, much to Darry’s dismay. You need to be able to hold your own and Dallas is going to teach you everything he’s learnt during his time on the streets.

Two-bit is the go to “baby-sitter”. He’s more than happy to go anywhere you want and he actually lets you have some form of freedom. Maybe that’s because he himself has the mentality of a small child but regardless, if Darry wants someone to look after you, make sure you request Two-bit.

Johnny loves spending time with you. You’re calm and someone he can talk to when he needs to. When he stays over some nights, you will sit up with him and Pony and talk until the sun comes up.

At first, Steve didn’t like you. He genuinely believed you were going to steal Sodapop away from him and hated when you came along to the DX. He doesn’t care if you’re a year younger than Pony, you’re still a kid in his eyes, and he’ll treat you as such. After a while though, he starts to warm up to you, you’re his best friend’s little sibling after all.

Needless to say, the whole gang loves you and would do anything for you <333

[weclassygirl]

deception

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: years pass in Eregion and reader learns how much connected she is with Sauron

warnings: some blood, but none really

word count: 2,2k

author’s note: finally the fun begins. also keep in mind this is a story that spans over hundred of years. enjoy! (previous part -> visions)

It was no secret why you pursued the dark arts in the first place. A forgotten book in your father’s library when you were a child. A child. Who in their right mind would let someone so young to read upon the cursed texts? But what happened could not be undone.

You learned in secret, became obsessive at times, your family believed you to study, to one day become a respected diplomat for the realm. How disappointed they were to hear what you have done from the mouths of others.

Cast out and alone you made your new life. You never saw them again and yet you knew them to be long gone.

It became your solace, powerful and unpredictable but you preferred it that way. You had your days when you tried to leave it behind, stop this pursuit but it always lingered, drew you even more back in.

You look up from under the tree and up into the sky, your hand picks at the skin on your palm unconsciously.

The faint scar on your finger makes you wonder what his intention was. He drew blood that day in the cell and you never questioned, never thought that there may be an intention behind it.

The man you saw in the garden looked nothing like the Sauron you knew, but you heard he could take whatever form he liked.

He survived then. That beam of light was his doing, the pain you felt was his work, but how? You trace the scar and head to the library.

It’s been some time since that day in the forge, the High King has been informed and you’ve been confined to the forge, cleaning rather than creating. Celebrimbor saw with time how quickly the blackened fingertips faded with each good deed and requested for your freedom to be expanded.

There were some Elves who deemed it uncertain of what your time would be like if you started to dwell into Eregion‘s tomes and scrolls. Celebrimbor assured them that it would be supervised. And so you took out every piece of parchment you could find, book and a passage to ensure he did not do it.

You spend a whole evening in the library when you come across it. A short mention but nevertheless clear as day. He planned it, he smiled when you healed the small cut and there was this gnawing feeling within you when he did so.

The black blood looked indistinguishable from the one over your darkened fingertips.

You rush out of the library and the guards barely catch up with you, but let you be as they see you heading to your bed chamber. You lock the door and lean against it, your breathing heavy. Your feet carry you to the bathroom and you rub at your fingertips where the small scar is left, you move so harshly that you draw blood.

It drips down and you stare in horror, black mixed with red.

He bound you… to him.

You’ve heard of rituals involving exchanging blood but for this one you hope he did not speak the vow that sealed it.

“It suits you.” you turn startled to see him standing before you. A shadow this time, almost human like, not the man you saw before.

“Get out of my head.” you snap and storm out of the bathroom, he follows you and leans against the doorframe. You hope there’s no guards outside if they were to hear whatever you would say to a ghost in your mind.

“I told you we’re bound.” his voice is distorted, like a spell cast over it.

You scoff at his words and speak through clenched teeth. “To path to darkness, not to each other.”

“Not yet.” he moves closer.

You step back until your back hits the wall, he’s not truly there but his presence alone makes you move according to his rhythm. “You cannot think I would willingly give myself to you.” it’s a twisted thought and you tip on the axis of whether you want it to come true or not.

“With time, perhaps.”

Your eyes go ever wider. “You’re insane.”

He leans above you and you avoid his gaze as his phantom breath lands next to your ear. “One day, you’ll need me just as I’ll need you.” when he pulls back he looks at you with such adoration. If he were truly here, people would mistake you for lovers.

He’s right though, you will need him. Who wouldn’t want the help of a feared sorcerer? The one person who can show you the craft you so longed to learn.

A knock comes at the door and you tear your gaze from him, he vanishes in your mind and you run your hand down your face. Persistent shadow.

You open the door to a guard. “Lord Celebrimbor wishes to see you.”

You give him a short nod. “I’ll come by the workshop later.” you start to close the door but his spear stops you from doing so.

“He wishes to see you now.” you sigh but follow his lead.

When you walk down to the forge a distinct conversation dies down as you enter. You see Celebrimbor standing with… the High King. You march closer to them, the forge is quiet, the fire crackling in the pit.

“High King.” you give him a nod. It’s been a few hundred years since he sent you to Eregion, you wonder if he comes to judge your progress or to put an end to it.

“Lord Celebrimbor has informed me of your growth in your punishment.” he starts, though his voice sounds as if the words were poison on his tongue. You knew he never took liking to you and you never hid your disdain. His next words make you rethink that perhaps he had a heart after all. “We’ve decided to free you of your confines.”

You stare agape. “What?”

Celebrimbor steps closer. “Your hands are clean, have been for many years now. I believe this could be a start of something new.” he says as he takes your hands in his and cuts the metal around your wrists.

You feel as if a weight has been lifted from your soul, like you can finally breathe. You pinch yourself, this could be another dream, another illusion from Sauron but you feel the sting on your arm.

Gil-Galad comes closer. “This does not mean that you will be less watched. The moment you dip back into your old craft, the archers will kill you without hesitation.” a threat and you see the honesty in it.

“Of course.” you respond. The High King bids goodbye to Celebrimbor and you don’t know whether to feel elated or frightened. You’re free, no more chains to hold you down, after so many years. You look down at your hand and hesitate to conjure up the smallest speckle of light. Celebrimbor notices it.

“Go on.” he encourages you. “I must admit, I’ve never seen a wizard, much less a witch to create something without using a staff.”

You gather the courage and bring up a small mist of light, scattered across your palm. You laugh and your eyes fill with tears.

“Freeing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” you whisper. You form an orb of light and almost caress it. You close the palm of your hand and the light that illuminated your face fades out in the wind. You feel a presence in the back of your mind but pay it no mind, you turn to Celebrimbor. “Shall we continue with our work?”

He smiles. “We shall.”

Time passes as you become a well-respected Elvensmith of Eregion and in those years you learn to create a perfect illusion of the effects from using dark magic. It didn’t take you long to be pulled back into it, a scroll here and there, you took many notes, crafted your own spells for your needs. Celebrimbor never suspected. Gil-Galad never knew.

And your shadow remained and with time you started to tolerate his presence but still refused to bind yourself completely to him.

You used him as much as he used you. You were his eyes in Eregion whether you liked it or not, you could not avoid it. He was a cunning sorcerer, that much you knew from your time under Morgoth’s and yet you never realized how inventive he could become. You’ve learned more from him than in all your years of studying the craft.

“Focus.” he tells you as you try to form your own illusion over your body. Your bed chamber is quiet, no guards posted outside, the balcony slightly opened to let the fresh air of the night. You pin your attention to your hands, the dark fingertips motionless in the air as they glide over your other hand.

After a moment your hand once youthful and smooth turns wrinkled with speckles of old age. “Good. You listened for once.”

“Believe it or not but your instructions sometimes prove useful.”

“Sometimes?”

You tilt your head at him. “Don’t mock.” your hand returns to its former beauty, the effects of dark magic visible in the comfort of your own chambers.

“You could leave Eregion. The High King has pardoned you, Celebrimbor believes you pose no threat. Why haven’t you?” he asks.

You could, but you needed to stay, you knew he would come here in the future.

“I can bide my time here a bit longer.” you admit. You did not wish to part from Eregion yet, you waited until Greenwood had all but forgotten your name before you could return to the calmness of your cottage. It may take years but you could wait, time was at your side.

You stand up from your spot on the bed and close the journal that lay beside you. You go over to your desk and hide it from any prying eyes. Your spells, your creation, your precious.

“Tread carefully.” he says and you turn to face him. He stands right next to you and you could almost feel his breath on your face. “They may have fallen under your deception but sooner or later you’ll slip.”

You lift your hand, the scar barely visible on your finger. “Then I’ll need you more than ever.” he looks down to your finger and gently takes your hand. Even through the illusion, the shadow you can feel the dulled touch.

“And you claimed you’ll never give yourself willingly.” he teases and raises your hand. You tilt your hand and move your hand further to place it where his cheek would have been. For a moment you think he’ll melt into your touch, a Dark Lord at your mercy. You grab his jaw forcefully and bring it down to you, even as an illusion he complied with whatever you wanted to do with him.

His gaze is unyielding and he smirks. “I won’t. At my deathbed I might, but not before.”

“I can arrange that.” you let go of him and his hand goes over his stubble. “In time, you will beg me to.”

He disappears once again leaving you alone in your chambers. This man… you grunt in annoyance and close the door to the balcony. Your sight lands on the desk, you’ve grown quite irritated at his constant disappearances. You lock the door to your chambers and sit up on the bed, your journal lays before you once more with hopes of mastering the spell once and for all.

You concentrate and lay back on the bed, you close your eyes trying to pin point where he is. You hear the water surrounding him before you see him. He lays there or so you think, below the deck, his eyes open as he senses you. The old man sees him looking around, not aware of your presence.

“Nightmares again? What haunts you so?” the old man asks. It’s then he notices you, you never sought him out that was his task but there in the shadows you stood just like he has before.

“I’ve done evil.” he says while looking at you.

The old man leans closer. “All of us have done things that we care not to admit.”

“Not like I have.” the silence weighs, you dare not to respond. The old man lectures him about choosing good, you scoff. You could never imagine him being in the light, every good act he’s done has been for his own gain. You understand, you’ve done the same.

You come closer and kneel before him. He watches you and when you try to speak to him the words caught up in your throat. He smiles for a moment, such a fleeting expression. You may have learned how to reach him but conveying a message would take time.

His eyes grow wide when he feels the beast beneath the deck and he aims for your head as if to push you down to the side. You disappear from his sight as the water crashes through the boards.

You gasp as you sit up on the bed and your hand flies to your head. You curse under your breath and try to get back to him but you’ve reached your limit.

You’ll have to wait until he reaches out again.

next part -> scheme

[iamnotoriginalphil]

She Said What (Melissa Schemmenti x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Seeing Gary get down on one knee shattered you. Tasting Melissa on your lips put you back together again.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: none

It was like taking a knife to the gut, twisting in your intestines, leaving you gasping for breath. You weren’t meant to be there. Eyes darting around the room, you were desperate for escape. You couldn’t breathe. One step back, then another, you fled down the hall before you could hear the answer.

Gary had asked Melissa to marry him. And you, like an idiot, had fallen completely in love with her.

When it had been nothing but a relationship, kept on the outskirts, it was easier. Avoiding the break room on Tuesdays, not asking about weekend plans or prying to much into her relationship, you could keep your friendship with her devoid of any details. It was easier that way. You couldn’t be plagued of thoughts of the two of them together. If you didn’t think about it, your jealousy couldn’t run rampant, ruining your friendship with her.

Now though…

You’d be seeing the ring on her finger. You might be invited to the wedding. She might change her last name. It would be everywhere, in your face, reminding you how the woman you love was not yours to love. That your chance with her had slipped away.

Career day was a bust and you needed escape and yet you were trapped in your classroom with the kids, praying the clock would speed up and you would have your freedom. Right now, Melissa was somewhere in the building, a new sparkly ring on her finger, joy in her heart, desperate to go home and celebrate with her new fiancé.

You felt sick at the thought.

The bell rung and you thanked the mechanic who had come to speak to your class, shaking his oil stained hand. Sinking down onto your chair, you buried your head in your hands, letting out a long breath. You would have groaned if not for being in a place anyone walking past could hear. All you wanted was to pack up your stuff and go home, curling up in your bed and letting yourself give in to the pressure building behind your eyes.

“You look like you’ve had a day about as good as mine.”

You startled, looking up from the hands your head was resting in. Melissa was walking into your classroom, hands thrust into the pockets of her leather jacket. You blinked, trying to rearrange your face into something celebratory, not the despair you’d been feeling all afternoon. Stretching your lips into a smile, you felt it stiffen as you looked at her.

“Hey,” you said, “congratulations. I saw the feed. It was a beautiful proposal.”

“It was,” she agreed, resting against the edge of one of the student’s desks, much as she had at the front of her classroom when Gary got down on one knee.

“You must be so happy,” you said.

“Not really,” she replied with a small shrug.

“Well, not when you’re here with me but I bet Gary is waiting at home for you to celebrate,” you said, offering her a sheepish smile.

“He better not be. I don’t need another restraining order,” she said.

“Ha, yeah,” you said, “wait, what?”

She quirked an eyebrow up at you. You had no ides what was going on, on the back foot of the conversation so quickly. When her lips quirked up, you lost any words to try and fix whatever situation you’d found yourself in.

“Hon, did you see my answer?” she asked.

“Of course I did,” you replied, laughing uncomfortably.

She sighed, shoulders relaxing, “I said no.”

“What?” That was not what you were expecting.

“I said no. You know I have no interest in being married again. He didn’t listen no matter how many times I told him. We want different things,” she said.

‘So you…?” You didn’t want to assume after your last assumption had gone so badly.

“We broke up,” she said.

“Oh, Mel, I’m so sorry.”

You made your way around your desk, perching beside her. You found her leaning against your shoulder, soft hair brushing against you as you curled an arm around her waist. Her head rested against you, shifting closer.

“It’s better we realised. No resentment, no cheating, no attempted murder. A clean break before anyone could get really hurt,” she said.

“Still, it sucks,” you said.

“Yeah, it does,” she sighed.

“I really am sorry,” you said.

“Really? I always got the impression you didn’t really like him,” she said.

You stiffened. She drew away from you, turning those beautiful green eyes onto you. You tried to stutter out an answer, to refute her claim, to lie right to her face. But there was nothing. No words came out and you were left staring at her, anxiety swooping in your stomach.

“You were never comfortable when I talked about him so I stopped but I always wondered what was wrong with him,” she said.

“Is that why you said no?” Guilt curled in your stomach.

“Of course not. I really don’t want to get married again. Once was enough. I guess I’m just curious what you saw in him,” she said.

“I didn’t really know him,” you said, offering her a non-committal shrug.

“But you didn’t like him,” she said, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

“It was nothing about him. I’m sure he was fine. Nice even. And you loved him. He wasn’t a bad guy as far as I could tell,” you said.

“He’s not. But I thought we were good enough friends that you’d be honest with me,” she said.

Guilt again, washing over you, wave after wave. She was still looking at you, a small lopsided smile both sad and hopeful. You sighed, leaning into her again, not wanting those eyes assessing you anymore.

“It wasn’t about him. I mean sure, I thought you could do better but it was more to do with me. I didn’t want that to get between us and ruin our friendship,” you said.

“Can’t you just tell me what the issue was?” she asked.

“I don’t think that will make you feel better,” you said.

She hopped off the desk, moving to stand in front of you. You swallowed past a lump in your throat, averting your eyes down to your hands clasped between your thighs. With a forefinger, she tilted your chin up until you were looking back in her eyes.

“I can handle it, hon,” she said.

“Mel,” you sighed, not sure how to finish the sentence.

“It can’t be that bad,” she said, “unless he was the man who mugged your nanna.”

“I don’t think he was,” you said, giving her a weak smile.

“So what is it?”

The finger on your chin was practically burning your skin. You took a deep breath, anxiety making your fingertips tingle and your stomach roil. She was still watching you and you couldn’t tell what emotion it was swimming in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to hear about your relationship because… because…” You squeezed your eyes shut, “because I was jealous.”

“Aw, hon, you’ll find your guy one day,” she said, gently nudging you in the shoulder.

That was not the answer you were expecting. You peeked over to her, her smile softened as she looked at you. You shook your head.

“Not of your relationship,” you said, shoulders slumping, not wanting to keep the secret after coming so close to telling her, “of him.”

“What?” she asked, her smile slipping for a moment.

“Mel,” you sighed, “I’ve been half in love with you for a while now. And I’m sorry that it didn’t work out with Gary because I don’t like you hurting. I don’t want you think this is me trying to swoop in the second you’re single. I’m not that unfeeling.”

The smile had completely left her face, eyes widening and the shock evident. You could only stare at her, waiting for some kind of reaction. Mostly you were waiting to be told to get the hell away from her and never speak to her again. Her hands landed on your knees, fingers digging in as she gripped you hard.

“Hon,” she said, voice catching and you squeezed your eyes closed again, waiting for the slap, “can you look at me?”

You opened your eyes again. She was peering into your face, eyes swimming with an emotion you couldn’t name. Her lips were quirked at the corners, just enough for your heart to begin beating double time. Hands slid further up your legs as she lent towards you. You didn’t know what was going on and you were scared to move. Frozen under her touch, all you could do was stare back at her.

“I wish I’d known. I wish you’d told me,” she said.

“Would it have made a difference?” you asked.

“Of course, hon. If I’d known…” She shook her head.

“It’s fine. I won’t make it weird. We can still be friends. It’ll be like you never knew,” you said, panic beginning to set in. You were desperate not to lose her in all of this. This was like your worst nightmare coming to life before your very eyes.

“I didn’t just break up with Gary because he wanted to get married,” she said, interrupting you before you could continue rambling your reassurances, “there was a part of me that knew I had feelings for you. He couldn’t be my miracle when there was someone else.”

“What?” You couldn’t comprehend what she was saying.

“I wish you’d said something earlier, hon. If I’d known then Gary and I would have never gotten to this point,” she said. Her hands were still moving further up your legs until they were holding your hips.

“I don’t understand,” you said.

“Hon, I’m saying I have feelings for you too,” she said, a smile breaking over her face, bright and heartbreaking and everything you’d wanted to see for so long, “I know this probably isn’t the right time to say it but you’re hot and I like you.”

“You just broke up with Gary,” you said.

“I did. Doesn’t change how I feel about you,” she said, shrugging.

“This is an emotional rollercoaster.” Your lips stretched into a smile, small and soft and the way she seemed to melt at the sight of it only had you reeling again, “isn’t this too soon?”

“Yeah, probably, so we’ll take it slow,” she said.

“Slow?”

“Look, I dunno how this is gonna go but I do know that I like you enough that I want to give this a go. I’ve been single for a few hours and I’m probably going to have to deal with stuff from ending my relationship with Gary so we’ll take it slow and figure it out together. Sound good?”

You thought about it, turning it over in your mind. You’d thought, in your wildest dreams, that if you were offered the chance to be with Melissa you’d grab it with both hands but coming right off the back of her break up it felt… tenuous. But giving it a chance might be the best thing you could do, if only to not have to think about the what if on your death bed.

“Slow sounds good,” you said.

She relaxed, as if she’d been bracing herself for rejection. The smile on her face grew more sure of itself, more playful as she lent in. You shivered when her breath hit your skin, and you looked up into sparkling green eyes. You felt your cheeks heat up under her gaze and blinked, trying to take in her beauty. Trapping your bottom lip between your teeth, you worried at it, breath frozen, watching her with wide eyes and racing heart.

“Must say, hon, you’re pretty cute when you’re nervous,” she said.

“Nervous?” you managed to squeak out, “I’m not nervous.”

“No?” she asked, drawing closer again, lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered, “are you sure?”

“Mel,” came out as a strangled noise, “this doesn’t feel slow.”

“Feels like I’m moving pretty slowly to me,” she replied, lips slow to press to your cheek.

A small noise came from your parted lips. She chuckled, drawing back far enough for you to see the way her eyes were smouldering as they focused in on your lips. You found yourself leaning toward her, drawn into her orbit, the gravity of her dragging you closer.

“I suppose one kiss isn’t so fast,” you murmured.

“I’m glad you agree,” she said.

Her lips pressed to yours, muffling a gasp. Arms wound around her neck, fingers burying themselves in red curls. Her fingers dug into your hips, hauling you closer until you were on the edge of the desk, her body caught between your thighs. Her tongue ran along your lower lip, teeth nipping when you moaned into her mouth.

If this was slow, you could get on board with it.

She drew back, making you whimper, fingers tightening on her hair. She placed one last chaste kiss to your lips before disentangling your fingers. The step she took back made you feel bereft before you reminded yourself that today wasn’t about you. You couldn’t imagine the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on that day. Your’s had been bad enough.

“Can we renegotiate this going slow thing?” she asked.

“No,” you laughed, no matter how much you wished you could, “we should go slow. I mean, what are your plans tonight?”

“Drinking wine until I don’t feel embarrassed that I turned down a proposal in front of Jalen Hurts,” she replied.

“Exactly,” you said, giving her an indulgent smile even as your heart raced.

She chuckled, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, taking another step back from you. Your teeth sunk into your lip, swollen from her kisses, as you considered her.

“You might be onto something,” she said.

“But maybe, when the embarrassment has dimmed a bit, we can go out,” you said.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she said.

“Great, well…” A smile was taking over your face, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I suppose you will,” she said.

Watching her back out of the room, all you wanted to do was reach out and pull her back to you. She paused in the doorway before she strode back to you, both hands cupping your cheeks and kissing you so thoroughly you lost any train of thought you might have been having. Nodding to herself, she turned her back on you, striding out. You watched her, dumbstruck, wondering how you’d somehow managed to get so lucky.

From the absolute travesty of seeing Gary propose to her to ending with the promise of a date and the taste of her still on your lips. You had no idea how you’d gotten so lucky.

[artofchoisan]

IN THE ARMS OF A VILLAINY

Pirate!Captain!San x Fem!Reader!Royal!Navy!Commander

The plot: Being a commander at the navy, known for being ruthless and merciless towards all the vile pirates except for one. One pirate that had brought you nothing but troubles, yet you couldn't do anything as due to how powerful and how sometimes he was useful to the government, none could touch him. One time after an encounter with him at a tavern, your anger got the best of you and you sneakily got into his ship just to be caught by the foul pirate.

TW: Rough Sex, Spanking, Mockery, Teasing, Choking, Degradation, Slight Bondage,

Words: 3.8k words

► ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hatred, that was the first emotion that burned like thousands suns under your skin as soon as your eyes landed on the captain of this notorious pirate ship. They’ve been known to have robbed many merchant ships and had the blood of countless innocent under his sword. Your jaw clenched as you watched from afar inside the inn you were in. 

Choi San was amongst those pirates that you despise the most, as a commander in the Royal Navy, you wanted to arrest this man for as long as you could remember but since San had made a deal with the King, he was untouchable. 

-

His eyes then catch yours, your hatred towards him was known to many even to him as he had escaped your clutches many times, your swords had clashed more than fingers you could count. The only response to which he gave you was a knowing smirk and a wink which infuriated you even more.

That night you didn't know what took hold of you, you didn't know what possessed you to sneak on his ship in the middle of the night. You cursed under your breath now knowing what you were doing, it was a quiet way silence for your liking.

Out of nowhere, you feel a harsh pain on the back of your head as you fall into darkness.

Harsh cold water being thrown onto your face which awakened you as you gasped out, coughing out. Immediately on high alert you glanced around as with fear, the realization that you were being restrained caught up to you and the face devoid of emotions of Choi San greeted you. The tip of his sword lifted your chin, “I know you’re obsessed with me darling, but there are certain limits to not be crossed.”

“I have the right to do whatever I want, foul pirate. Isn't that what you do?”

San was silent before he scoffed, shaking his head, “I’m a foul pirate, I don't expect for the Navy to do the same. But your King already made a deal, you should know that I’m untouchable.” His hand now hardly lifted your chin as you glared more at him with gritted teeth, an amused smile caressed his lips, “Look at me more like this, it might turn me on even more.” His thumb caressed your lips, “I feel like you should be punished.”

“I've seen how you looked at me.” San whispered into your ear, “How about we put our differences aside for tonight. I will give you such a wild night that no one will ever fuck you as good as I did, you’ll only hatefully yearn for my cock to wreck you apart.”

You were a commander of the law, but you were still a human, a woman with desires. Time could come and go but who wouldn't ever think of being taken apart by such a bad guy, you did have thoughts that made your hand linger down as you thought how he would relentlessly take you on, something you’ll never ever admit.

There were thoughts that clouded your mind, thoughts of envy. As much as you hate it, you were jealous of the freedom that the pirate could have, despite the killing, you yearn for that freedom. Yet, it seems that San could see right through you, the want for freedom could be seen from a vile pirate.

“How about this?” Hot breathing hitting against your cheek, “Let me give you a taste of freedom and freewill. Let me show you what you’ve been missing by mindlessly following the law. Don’t tell me that you’ve never wished to see this freedom, I can see it as clear as a jellyfish in your eyes.”

Avoiding San’s eyes were enough of an answer. The pirate grinned pressing his lips to your ear, bringing goosebumps onto your skin, “How about this—” You headbutt him as he grunted back and holding his nose with a sinister smile threatening his lips, “So, you want to play like that, then, we’re going to play.”

“I wanted to play nice but…” San grasped onto the rope that tied you up, pulling you up as you groaned out before forcing your back to face as he slammed your head onto the fur of the bed, “You leave me no choice, I will show you freedom in the wildness form possible.”

Your hands were tied in your back and you didn't want to give him the satisfaction so you bite back your words before, “You foul pirate.” Gritting your teeth with a victorious smirk on your lips, “It would take a lot to make me admit what you want. It won't mean that I give in to you, you’re still a murderer.”

He turned you around and he slammed you on the bed with a chuckle, “Don’t worry I do enjoy myself some challenge, you’ll be the one begging for it.” 

San undid the laces of his pants as your eyes widened before undoing it and taking it off, allowing his cock to be free, he was big and semi-hard with veins wrapped around his cock. His grip gently grasped around it with a wicked grin towards you.

You were lost for words, your breathing only hitched as a gasp escaped from you. Not wanting for the foul pirate to win, you didn't rip your gaze away from the sinful sight that bestowed into your sight.

So you only watch, looking at how the pirate let out soft grunts as he pumped his cock, how with that sickening grin on his face, he began to stroke it right in front of your eyes, “You don’t want to lose, huh? What if I put it right in front of your mouth? Would you suck it?”

“I will fucking bite it off.”

“Ohh feisty I like that but I’m your only way out.” The way his hands grabbed his cock and stroked it so sensually caused you to feel a throbbing in your inside and you unintentionally closed your leg, “I see, I do I’m having an effect on you. So will you be a good girl and give in?”

Adjusting his pants, San stood up and advanced towards you with a dark glare into his eyes. Taking his sword, he traced it along your clothed body, you reacted with a flinch yet he could only laugh at your pathetic self, “Hmm.” San made a displeased face, “I’ve always been curious what kind of body you’re hiding behind this white uniform…”

Piercing his sword hard enough so that it only pierce your clothes as he swung it hard enough. San leaned closer and ripped the clothes off of your body as you gasped out, your bared body as you squirmed around as his sword caressed your naked skin, from your stomach to your chest, “You look even more gorgeous, all naked and so vulnerable in front of you.”

“I’ll fucking kill you, damn pirate.” 

The pirate smiled, one of cunningness with a pride gaze that you wanted nothing more to rip off his face, “Choi San is the name.”

“I don’t fucking care.” You yelled as you squirmed around quivering and whimpering out not being a fan of being so naked right in front of him like that drove you insane, “Once you’re dead no one will remember it.”

San chuckled, putting his sword away, “You need to remember my name since you’ll be moaning it in a few.” 

His fingers now trailed onto your bared body, it was cold, revolting as his calloused hand landed onto your body, a touch that felt like a scorching heat, a whine was all you could muster already telling him all that he need to know, it’s been too long since anyone had touched you.

Once he groped your breast, you couldn't help that shameless moan that erupted from your throat and once his fingers twirled around your nipple and pinched them hard, you whined out a curse, “It’s quite hot to have you all tied up and naked, squirming at my every touch. How does this freedom taste? How does it feel to be touched by a foul pirate?”

Soon enough, San now almost sat on top of you, you could feel how his clothed crotch rubbed against your warmth as you bite back your moans, throwing your head back with a gasp, “Let me show you how good foulness can feel.” 

His tongue caught onto your nipple as you arched your back, his teeth grazed onto the sensitive bud as he sucked and nipped on it, “Ahh…Mhhmm….Fuuck…” Your moans made a red burning shame to cross your cheek with an uneven breathing from you as San bestowed more bites onto your nipple, latching on it with his wet tongue, pulling them, playing with you like a puppet as he groped your other breast painfully as pleasure slithered down your back, “Nhhggg…Mhhmmm.”

“Taste so good..” San moaned into his bites as his tongue swirled around your nipple as you squirmed and the way he held your bare waist drove you insane, you hated how you wanted more from him, hated how you wanted him to just devour you.

“Should I make you cum? Do you even deserve that right now?” The tint of mockery into his voice drove you on edge as he licked a long stride then twirls his tongue around your nipple, “I don't think I’ll give it easily but I will take it as a win once you moan my name.”

As you tried to hit him with your leg, he scoffed, “Alright you want to play like that.” 

Grabbing you harshly, San turned you around, his breathing heavy and satisfied yet not so pleased with your bratty attitude, pushing your body over the fur bed once more as your right cheek pressed hard onto the blanket, “I wanted to play nice but you don't deserve it.” The way his voice turned cold, sent shivers down your spine. 

Writhing around him seemed to piss San even more, his hand came around your neck, wrapping around your skin with a soft press before releasing his hold, “Stop, fucking, moving.” Each word was spat as he bestowed a hard slap onto your ass forcing you to stop moving as he scoffed, “Good girl but I don't like disobedience so I will leave you like that.” 

With that, San pushed your body fully onto the bed as he scoffed, “Also, seems like you really wanted me since you have forgotten that I tied only your hands not your legs.” 

With a smirk, he left the room and closed the doors behind him leaving you already so wet and naked and fuming with anger at how San found out your true desire.

It would take him no time to make you moan out his name. 

It would take him no time to make you bend down for him.

It would take him no time to make you let your true desires be out.

At this point, you didn't know what to think as you laid down on the bed handcuffed. Somehow you were glad, it appeased you that all the responsibility as a commander felt light on your shoulder. If everyone thought you were dead, nothing held you back anymore as your eyes closed with a deep exhale as you opened them slowly. Being kidnapped by a pirate and being held hostage? How could it feel so light?

You expected the foul pirate to be forceful towards you, yet it wasn't the case. He was ruthless but not in the case that you expected for it to be. But this wouldn't make you put your guard down.

You were still on high alert.

San was just too unexpected, too wild and that fucking smirk.

You were about to doze off, since what else was there for you to do? Last night, sleep nested into your soul and you’ve just been awoken by those thoughts clouding your mind. Also thinking what would San do you once you bend to his wishes. Only death could await you. He was a cruel pirate after all, the slight goodness he had shown shouldn't cloud your mind.

San had only been playing with you.

Criminals are still criminals no matter what.

Even if their face looked so handsome, a jawline that looked as sharp as a cutlass and feline eyes.

The door creaked open forcing you out of your sleepiness, taking a protective stance as you backed away, as you glared hard at none other than San who entered the room. 

Apparently, during the night, you ended up having a blanket draped around your naked body with your hand still tied up. His amused laughter followed, “Are you always that angry so early in the morning? Shouldn't you be thanking me darling? I gave you my bed to sleep in and now you’re frowning at me?”

This was his room? Why would he do that? What was he even planning?

You could only sigh and look away, tiredness boring upon your skin, you were exhausted, “I have no idea what you have planned but get it over with and just kill me already?” With a smirk, you looked at him as you spat, “That’s what you wanted, right? All you pirates are cruel with no fucking emotions!” 

San cupped your cheek hard, you could almost feel your bone crack by how forceful it was, the anger that resided in his eyes didn't diminish, a fire seemed to burn as his whole body was calm, “Listen darling..” His tongue pressed inside of his cheek as he tilted his head while his eyes looked down on you, “If I wanted you dead I would have pierced you with my sword after using your body for my own advantage but I do believe I did nothing of that, right? Now be a good girl and eat.”

He released the hold on you as you gazed down at the bowl of what seemed to be chicken soup, “I’m not hungry.” You frown but the sound coming from your stomach was enough to make him crack a smile as you whisper under your breath, “Okay maybe just a bit.”

The blanket still draped over your bared body, he took a spoonful of the soup to your mouth as you hesitantly took it in your mouth, your eyes widened softly, it tasted nice and San noticed it as your eyes softened and your body relaxed for a while, the tension disappearing for a while, “Glad you like it, I will send my praises to the chef from you.”

Before taking another mouthful, you stopped yourself, “Why are you doing this? Why…” Your voice grew quiet and tired, “Why are you being so nice? You’re a pirate?” 

San chuckled, “I thought those in the Navy were smart..” He gave you another spoon as you took it once more, “Not all pirates are bad just like how not all Navy can be good. You can never judge a book by its cover. Not every prisoner is guilty and not all good politicians always tell the truth.”

“Why me? You know that I also kill pirates and…” Your voice faded into nothingness at the realization, “Both sides are following the rules and principles they’re assigned to, both have the right to that.” This calmed you down somehow, yet still doesn't answer your question, “If what you’re saying is right then why kidnapped me?”

“Your eyes..” San started as he placed the bowl on the small table, “Your eyes were pleading for a deliverance and I thought it would be fun to give you what you wanted just to see your reactions. Thought I’d have some fun as well. Now would you be a good girl and behave?”

The way he called you that nickname made something in your stomach turn, bringing hot shivers down your spine, “Stop calling me that.”

He only smirked, “Why? Aren't you a good girl?”

This caused you to become red as you turned your head away cursing under your breath, why was he having such an effect on you?

Turning your face towards his, he could only smile, “No need to hide your desires darling, you’re adorable like that you know…” His fingers slowly removed the blanket off your body, slowly revealing your body to the dark look into his eyes as you suddenly felt so small onto his gaze, “so vulnerable and all red as such. Finally, getting rid of your commander's side? Is this whom you truly are darling?”

Placing a gentle kiss onto your bare shoulder as you gasped out with a whimper, it felt sinful yet the sensation of his mouth brought a sensation of freedom, one you couldn't explain, “Let me take care of you. Allow me to free you from your chains? You do allow me that, right darling?”

With a frail nod on your side, a demonic smile crossed his lips, “Good girl.” 

San dropped the blanket onto the floor as he untied your hands, releasing yourself all naked to him. Getting behind you, he kissed your neck as you gasped out a curse, “That’s how I enjoy yourself, there’s nothing wrong in being vulnerable darling, I will make you feel good.”

His hand caught onto your breast as you finally moaned out his name, “San…ahh…Mmhhh please.” This make him to smile as he groped your breast hard, “Oh…fuck…” 

You breathed out and whimpered out his name like a chant more than his fingers pressed your nipple hard, the pain mixed with pleasure was euphoric. He palmed and groped your chest hard, he wasn't being gentle at all and you wanted it like that, enjoying how he pinched and twisted your nipples hard drawing out hard moans and whining from your lips.

“Fuck you’re so hot like that.” His teeth closed on your neck as he bestowed sucks and bites onto your bared skin as his hands still worked hard onto palming your breasts and pinching your nipples, “No one will ever please you like that. How do you want me to take you? Hard or gentle?”

“Please…” You didn't want to succumb to the temptation of admitting the truth, yet he could see through you. He ravaged your mouth with a hard kiss as you responded back with much harshness, you wanted it hard and you’d give it to him just as hard. 

A whine rushed past your lips as you felt his fingers caressing your bare inner thighs as your back pressed more against him, No warning was needed as two of his fingers pressed deep inside your warmth as you cursed out while San’s lips rubbed on your neck, “Be a good girl for your captain now.”

“Yes captain.” This was enough for San. 

Grabbing you carefully by your throat, he pressed you down on the bed, your ass now raised up for his hungry eyes as he licked a stride only your slick as you shivered out with more curses out your lips. 

The pirate landed a harsh slap on your ass as you moaned out, “Fuck…god…feels so good.”

San chuckled darkly at this sight in front of him as he delivered a harsh yet stinging smack to your butt before he dragged his thumb through your wetness, watching your warmth to quiver under his sinful touches that caused you to breath harshly as you gulped, eyes closed lost in the feeling. 

“So wet for me?” He smiled, "I’ve barely done a thing to you and you’re all wet. Look like you’ve never been touched like that before. Let me get back to it.” He landed yet another harsh slap to your butt. You groaned and arched your back, the shocks of pain were getting morphed into an intoxicating pleasure that coursed through your veins.

San laughed before he dropped and licked another strip up your core. You gasped at the feeling of his hot and wet tongue on you as he eagerly pressed yourself closer to him as you begged for more. The man couldn't help but to oblige, his tongue returned to your mound and moved expertly in ways he knew that would make you lose control. 

He fucked you with his tongue, occasionally he went down to suckle softly on your clit, slightly grazing you with his teeth.

The man positioned himself directly behind you. Two fingers prodded at your opening, slowly slid into you. You gasped as he began to scissor his fingers in you, no doubt preparing you to take his dick.

Removing his fingers from you.

You felt something hard and big teasing around your entrance.

San then slammed into you all at once, his thick cock stretched you out deliciously. You moaned obscenely, fisting the sheets beneath you. The man gave you no time to adjust as he pounded into you ruthlessly while delivering slaps to your butt when he saw fit, “Just like that, fuck you’re…taking me in so well, just like that.”

“So greedy, huh? I didn't know a commander of the navy could be that needy for the cock of the foul pirate that they hate.” San panted out.

The man sank his fingers into your hips as he fervently fuck into you, his grip will definitely leave you with bruises tomorrow but you couldn't care less.

When San started to thrust into you even harder, you lost all strength. Your hand fell from around his neck, and your other hand which you used for support just collapsed. The side of your face pressed into the mattress as the pirate fuck you brutally. The sound of skin being slapped on skin resounded off the walls of the quarter as San continued to roughly fuck into you.

San grunted and increased the speed of his hips, he dropped his hand from your chest to have it return to your clit. He circled the bud deliciously, he bucked his hips wildly against you. San tightened his grip on your neck and pressed small kisses to your jawline before coming up to your ear. 

“Come for me, Princess,”

With a loud growl, San gave one last thrust deep into your core, and he groaned sinfully as he emptied himself into you.

Your body crumbled down on the bed as you gasped out, hiding your face into the sheet as you heard the pirate panting just as heavy as yours. Soon your breathing even out. The pirate dragged you closer into his warmth as you snuggled in, “Thank you, would you mind if I stay with you, captain?” 

“Who knew all needed to make you stay is a good fuck?” San teased as he turned you around and pecked on your forehead, “I would love for you to stay, I told you I would give you a taste of freedom, no worries and no stress so stay with me.”

“I will take care of a few things back, then I will come back, I’ve got nothing holding me back anymore. I’m ready for this adventure with you, Captain.”

[ddejavvu]

Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary: months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni, fem!reader, jedi!reader, reader is a general, sweat kink (? they are really sweaty and i talk about it a lot), oral (m+f receiving), semi-public sex (risk of being caught), sparring, lightsaber use, throatfucking, messy kisses, scratching/marking, lotsa spit, obligatory 'had you said the word' (sorry satine i had to steal his line)

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! i didn't have time to write for like two months but it's done now and i hope you enjoy it <3 this is set a couple months/a year into the clone wars, but i have chosen to fuck with their ages a little bit. in this, anakin is like 12-14-ish, even though he was older in AOTC when the war began.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Neglecting the option of taking a padawan under your wing is what stuck you on this humid, blazing, hellish planet, and you almost regret it. You’d wanted more freedom in your duties, didn’t want a youngling clinging to your leg begging for help with their rudimentary saber drills, so instead you swapped it for what you thought would be constant battle, exhilarating speeder chases, and the glory of proving yourself. Unbecoming of a Jedi to wish for, yes, but you’ve never claimed to be Council-worthy.

Now your butt is sticking to the chair you’re planted in, overlooking a very empty, very desolate, very boring outpost. It’s so hot that you think you’ve melted into the chair and fused with its fabric. Standing might tear your skin away from your flesh, leaving an imprint of you behind in your seat.

“General,” One of your clone troopers calls, sticking his head through the doorway to your station, “Nothing on my scanners.”

“Nor on mine,” You drawl lazily, “We’re scheduled to be inspected today. Any word from the crew?”

“None.” He laments, “I just hope they bring a droid that can fix the cooler.”

The base you’re stationed to isn’t always this disgusting. The structure is wired with an air conditioning system to keep the inside much cooler than the outside, but after a rather unfortunate incident with a freshly manufactured astromech droid with some crossed wirings, both lay broken and singed in the maintenance bay. Your clones don’t know how to tinker with droids or heating systems, and you’d probably wind up just as ash-covered if you tried.

“Alert me when they land,” You order the trooper, leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the scanner screen before you, “I want to have time to change into an outfit I haven’t soaked through with sweat.”

The scanner grows warm against your flushed skin far too soon. Everything is hot, and sticky, and gross, and you find yourself yearning for the cold showers you used to despise at the temple. Perhaps you yearn for the temple in general, for the familial atmosphere shared among overconfident Padawans and exasperated Masters. You think specifically of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man you’d trained with, now Master to his apprentice Skywalker.

You haven’t seen the pair in years, but you remember Anakin’s blonde mop of hair, as well as his penchant for chaos. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyes fill with horror at whatever shenanigans his Padawan had gotten into that day was part of what helped you make the decision to decline one yourself, though you hold no distaste for the boy. He was simply young and untrained in the ways of the Jedi, and you were not a patient enough person to gracefully navigate that predicament then. You’re not sure you are now, either.

Even though you know you’re better suited on your own, you wonder if you’d have been more fulfilled with a Padawan learner of your own. Surely anything could be better than this, wasting away- rotting on a planet hot enough to boil your blood if you stepped outside without proper protection.

Your base is secluded and temperature-controlled, even if the contraption that the Republic had fashioned under pressure of time to keep you isolated is rather crude. It’s, in essence, a large dome, seals in place to ensure that vessels can land and takeoff without destroying the temperature control. It’s cooler within the dome than it is outside of it, but the hurriedly-designed system can only do too much, and you greatly depend on the air conditioning to do its job. Now that it’s not, you’re irritated from the heat, and you wish that the inspection team would just hurry up already. The patience you’d had drilled into you from your early years as a Youngling is nowhere to be found under the pressure of a heat wave, and your foot taps impatiently against the floor while you itch for some action.

You think it’s rather pathetic that you yearn for excitement so badly that you’re anxiously awaiting the inspection team. Their job takes barely an hour, a scan of your equipment and a survey of your troops. They’ll walk in and out without so much as a pleasantry, but you long for something new, something more, something exciting.

The call over your comms comes over an hour later, a time in which you remain at your post but begrudge it all the while. “General,” Your trooper barks, voice staticky and rough over the channel, “We’ve got visitors. Inspection team’s here. Initiating landing procedure.”

“Copy that,” You bolt out of your seat, barely remembering to lean over the microphone to reply, “Thank you.”

Finally.

Finally, someone new to talk to, even if they have the same face as everyone else you’ve spoken to on this long, dreary assignment. You’re friendly with your troopers, of course, but that itch for more is back in your brain, igniting you with vigor you don’t normally possess as you rush to greet the inspection team.

However, when you reach the landing bay, and the ship’s hydraulics hiss, clone troopers aren’t the only ones to disembark. Jedi robes make their appearance, shrouding the very man you’d just thought about, as well as the child by his side. 

Obi-Wan wears the years that have passed since you last saw him, but time has treated him well. His hair is longer now, gone is that stiff Padawan buzz. His braid is missing as well, giving way to luscious strawberry blonde strands that he’s slicked back so that they drag against the back and sides of his neck. Longer hair looks good on him, just as it had when he was fifteen and had refused a haircut for months in a typical, if rather tame, display of teenage rebellion. Anakin is also significantly older than you’d kept track of, but he can’t be older than fourteen if his lanky limbs and awkward demeanor are any evidence.

Obi-Wan smiles at you, and you nearly forget to shove down that shameful part of you that wants to take more out of him than he can give you. Even as Padawans you’d always gravitated towards the man opposite you, sneaking out to roam the gardens after hours together or sharing sly glances across mission briefings. But he’s an honorable Jedi Master - a member of the Council itself, so you’ve heard - and you wrestle down your repressed feelings to grin at him.

“General Y/L/N,” He greets with a smile so charming you lament that the Jedi Order interrupted his chances of being a model.

“Master Kenobi,” You greet, but you know he’ll chide you for the honorific if you use it more than once, “I wasn’t aware you’d be on the inspection team.”

“We’re not. Technically.” Obi-Wan admits, arm coming to press against Anakin’s back and nudge him forwards, “We got word that your air conditioning system is out, as well as one of your new astromechs. Anakin here is still an excellent mechanic, I thought we’d come out to offer you some reprieve from the heat.”

Anakin looks embarrassed by the attention that’s fallen upon him, in typical pubescent fashion, and you take pity on the timid teenager, casting your glance back at his Master, “Maker, thank you. We’re melting out here.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan laughs, and you turn again to Anakin who’s anxiously awaiting your orders.

“Anakin, if you could fix our air conditioning, that would be wonderful. Honestly, I’m not even sure I want the droid fixed, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place. But they’re both over there,” You point to the shorted out panels, “And my troopers will offer you any supplies you need, like tools or wiring or refreshments.”

“Thank you.” Anakin nods, hands clasped behind his back obediently even if he looks mortified to be the center of attention once more, “I’ll have things up and running as soon as possible.”

“I’m leaving you here,” Obi-Wan warns the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t often leave you alone with machinery and tools, Anakin, for reasons we’re both aware of. Promise me you will not do anything reckless?”

“I promise,” Anakin mutters reluctantly, and you avert your eyes so he has some semblance of privacy.

“I mean it, Anakin. This is no time to experiment with your technical prowess. You simply fix their system and you wait for me back on the ship, understand?”

“Master,” Anakin pleads, “I understand.”

“Very well. Get to your duties,” Obi-Wan dismisses the boy, turning to you only after he sees his Padawan crouch by the singed panel.

“He shouldn’t take long. He most likely will try to tinker with the astromech, though.” Obi-Wan smiles sympathetically, “He’s not one to leave a droid unusable.”

“I remember he had a particular talent for mechanics,” You muse, starting off towards the main base intent on leading Obi-Wan to your rec room, “If I recall correctly, he figured out how to inconspicuously rewire his communicator to give you an ‘unavailable’ signal if he didn’t like what you were asking him to do.”

Obi-Wan scoffs as he lets you lead through the doorway, “Yes, my Padawan has always had very selective hearing. I’m sure you don’t mind not having one of your own.”

“That’s one of the reasons I justify my choice,” You chuckle, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way through the halls. The base that the Republic had granted you is spacious, even decked out with training facilities and rec rooms interspersed throughout your rows of quarters, but it’s unbearably hot and you’re tired of being cooped up inside of it.

“This isn’t bad for a base,” Obi-Wan muses, robes swishing behind him as he strides beside you, “But I hope Anakin fixes that cooling system soon.”

“Try being stationed here permanently,” You scoff, tugging at the sweat-soaked neckline of your tunic, “I have long since abandoned my robes.”

“Do you have somewhere I could set this?” Obi-Wan asks, fingers catching the front of his cloak as he slings it off. It falls gracefully from his shoulders, and he holds the garment up as he laments still having to wear the rest of his robes.

“You can leave it in my quarters,” You veer sharply to the right, letting him catch up, “They’re just down this hallway.”

There’s unmarked doors on either side of the corridor, and you’re still impressed that each clone trooper knows where their bed is at night. Your door has a plaque beside its frame that reads ‘General’s Quarters,’ and you’re not confident that you could navigate the halls without it. You type in your access code, and the door slides open with a hiss.

“Just set it on the bed,” You gesture towards your mattress, “If we have some time, I thought,” You reach into the closet, pulling out your seldom-used lightsaber, “We could spar.”

Obi-Wan laughs, discarding his cloak onto your bed as his eyes crinkle happily at the corners, “You’re lacking a bit of excitement here, aren’t you, Y/N? There’s no way you’d duel me willingly after I took you down the last time.”

You’d sparred together since you’d been handed a saber for the first time. Sure, your initial weapons were wooden, then training blades designed to be duller than their more advanced counterparts, before you’d finally been granted allowance to manufacture one of your own. But there were no more dedicated sparring partners than the two of you, and you can tell the man opposite you is fond of the reminder you’ve given him, even if he is trying to tease you.

“You did not take me down,” You gawp, “I mean- yes, I was on the floor, but I wasn’t done! You didn’t win!”

“Mm, yes. I didn’t win because no one did.” Obi-Wan sends you a sly grin, “Anakin interrupted us, don’t you remember? We never got to finish.”

“Then a rematch,” You insist, gesturing towards the open doorway, “Once and for all we’ll prove who the better duelist is.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win. After all, I can tell you spend every waking moment practicing and making sure you lose none of your fighting abilities,” Obi-Wan’s hand darts out to switch on your holotable, revealing an in-progress game of chess. You’re losing.

“I’ve only been using that as of late,” You snap, defensive, “It’s insufferable to train without proper ventilation. And only when I’m not on duty. I don’t spend all of my time sitting and playing chess.”

“Losing at chess.” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, finally stepping out of your quarters so that you can shut it once more, “Come, Y/N, show me to your training grounds.”

The training room is just as hot as everywhere else on the base. You walk through the doors and humid air greets you, something that wrinkles Obi-Wan’s nose and rustles his mustache.

 “God, I hope your Padawan knows what he’s doing,” You groan, rolling up the sleeves of your own tunic but jumping excitedly into action despite the heat. You ignite your saber, slightly embarrassed by the thrill that the weapon gives you as it thrums to life. You haven’t felt this in a long time, at least, not paired with the thrill of battle. It’s significantly less awe-inspiring to ignite a saber against a training droid you know wouldn’t be able to singe your tunics if you stood stock still. Obi-Wan brings his to life as well; blue and green lights bathe your faces.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He smiles infuriatingly, cocking his head slightly to one side, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You jolt right, a fakeout before you dart left instead. He catches on rather quickly, though, and his blade clashes against yours as you aim for his leg.

“Nice start,” Obi-Wan admits, “But you can’t rely on misdirection for your entire fight. You’ll have to overpower me.”

“I could easily overpower you,” You swing left, breaking the contact of your two sabers, then jabbing so that he has to move his foot out of the way to avoid the plasma. He stumbles, barely catching himself against his back foot, but it gives you time enough to bring your blade up and around to nick at his shoulder, a hole now slashed into his tunic.

“Okay,” He stands straight, eyeing the tear in his clothing warily, “I won’t go easy on you.”

“Never underestimate your opponent,” You tease proudly, saber still ignited, “That’s one for me, Obi-Wan.”

“That doesn’t count,” He scoffs, standing at the ready, “I told you I’d go easy on you. Now I’m serious.”

“All I’m hearing is excuses,” You gloat, feet light as you step around him, “You lead this time, Kenobi.”

He does. He swings downwards, and you block your face with your own blade to stop him. He nearly jabs at your gut before you can prevent it, and you feel the heat from his blade as your own comes to block his.

You fling his weapon away with yours, and he lets you. After such a long period of no action (and shamefully little meditation) your abilities with the Force have grown slightly weaker, as have your regulatory skills. You can still sense what he’s going to do when he squares his shoulders, but you’re almost not fast enough to interpret those senses, and you barely make it to block him from swinging his blade in a fiery circle that would clip the edge of your arm.

“You’re rusty,” He taunts, his own Force abilities stronger than ever as his presence seeps through the cracks in your mind. You try to force him out, but it takes effort, and it’s effort you can’t expend elsewhere. It means that you can’t foresee his intent to aim for your face, and his blade hums inches away from your cheek as he holds it there.

You freeze; you’re caught.

We’re even,” You grunt, sweat beading at your forehead, “But we’re not finished.”

“Hang on,” He disengages his saber, letting the apparatus clatter to the ground as he tugs at one of the outer layers of his robes, “I’m going to shed a few things.”

“Stripping will not help your cause.” You tease, “I’m not distracted by sex appeal.”

Clearly, he isn’t expecting your jab, and he lets his mouth fall open as he slings off one of his garments, an incredulous laugh filling his throat.

“Y/N. You’ve obtained a foul mouth somewhere along your career. It certainly wasn’t in the temple.”

“It’s the clones,” You groan, “Try being stationed with a troop of grown men who went through puberty in record time. They’ve got the appetite of an adult with the filter of a teenage boy.”

“They’ve never tried anything with you,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes questioningly, and you try to avoid looking at the sweat glistening against his tanned neck as he strips to his base layer.

“No, they’re respectful.” You assure him, “Just crass.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan frowns distastefully, “They haven’t had Jedi training. I suppose I’m not surprised.”

He stands there for a moment with only his undershirt covering his chest, then decides that it’s still too warm, tugging at its hem to raise it over his head.

You feel your insides ignite with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time when his bare chest is exposed, skin marred and riddled with coarse, wiry hair. His stomach is flat but not as tight as you remember in your youth, softer now. You can tell there’s an impressive layer of muscle beneath the milky white skin, though, even if it’s not outwardly visible. He uses his tunic to wipe the sweat off of his face so you’re granted a moment to ogle him, your mouth watering as you try to conceal your thoughts. 

“Okay. Enough with this child’s play.” You shake your head, letting Obi-Wan have just enough time to toss aside his tunic before you plant your feet against the mat. Obi-Wan stands at the ready, both of your sabers ignited, “I want a real match. A long one, now that we’re warmed up. Best two out of three, Kenobi. Winner takes all.”

“Winner gets to stand in front of the air conditioning vent when Anakin gets it up and running,” Obi-Wan suggests, sweat trailing down his neck and over his chest. You avert your eyes, lest the fraile state of mind you’re in betrays you.

“Fine.” You shrug, reaching for the hem of your vest. It’s tactical, good for keeping with you on duty, but it’s etching lines of sweat into your back now. You sling it off, letting it land in a heap similar to Obi-Wan’s robes, and exposing the tank top you have on beneath it. “I know just the one I’ll pick. In my room, there’s one just above the bed. Maybe I’ll let it hit my back while I win at holochess.”

“I think the heat might be getting to you,” Obi-Wan cracks, a slight heave to his chest as he tries regulating his breathing. It’s hard when you’re as hot as you are to get enough oxygen, and you’re doing the same. It’s awfully difficult not to indulge in the view of his bare chest rapidly rising and falling, and you feel a tug below your gut as a vision flashes through your mind. It’s of what else could make him pant in such a way, and you can’t afford to entertain the thought, not around him. “I’m not sure which outcome is more delusional; that you’ll win this duel, or that you’ll win at holochess.”

“You’re wasting time,” You croon, charging with your blade poised for battle so that you have no more time to fantasize, “I think you’re scared.”

“Do I feel afraid?” Obi-Wan laughs, blocking your attack with little effort and redoubling to launch one of his own. The clatter of your sabers almost drowns out his words, “Reach out, Y/L/N, all you’ll feel is confidence.”

“I’m not sure I could feel you if I tried,” You lament, chest heaving as you block one of his swings, “Not while my mind is occupied with our duel. I am rusty, you were right.”

“Practice more,” He chides, “Less chess, more meditation.”

“One is a lot more boring than the other!” You groan, barely managing to get your arm up in time to take a shot at his own, “And the less boring one is chess, so that’s really saying something.”

“It may be boring but it is beneficial,” Obi-Wan lectures you, and you wonder if he thinks you’re still a Padawan. You fight with heaving breaths and monumental effort, the heat sucking your energy out through the sweat that drips down your skin. He turns and his back is glistening, which is really not a sight that helps you to stay focused.

“Now I’m starting to see why Anakin tinkered with his communicator,” You call, as Obi-Wan whirls around your left side, “You’re very dull as a Jedi Master!”

You have to throw yourself onto the floor to avoid a swing at your head, your right shoulder aching as you do so. But you scramble away from him, righting yourself and miraculously avoiding the blade of your saber coming into contact with the training mat.

You stumble to your knees, driving the forward momentum you have against Obi-Wan as he tries blocking you. You nearly get a nick out of his pants, but he pushes you backwards with the threat of his blade, and you fall with your back to the mat.

Your stomach drops when a blue blade hums hot and bright near your throat, its tip directed at your jugular. It doesn’t matter that it’s on its training setting; it’s inescapable and daunting when it’s an inch from your skin. You’re done for. 

“I may be dull,” Obi-Wan pants, beard glistening as sweat streams down his neck. His chest heaves as he speaks, bare and open for your eyes, and his pink tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth to dart along his lips, “But I am victorious. Does this remind you a little bit of the last time we fought?”

It does. He’d been standing over you then as he is now, and you’d had to fortify your mind back then not to let slip vulgar thoughts about being on the floor below him. His thighs, meaty with muscle and strong from training, are hidden behind loose pants, but their crotch has tightened slightly, a chub to what should be a relaxed surface.

A pang of arousal shoots down your spine, and suddenly the lightsaber near your throat isn’t the most daunting thing in the room. It’s Obi-Wan.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as you lay beneath him.

“Your thoughts betray you,” He observes, and you feel his invasive presence in your mind, sucking out the private thoughts coursing through your brain. They’re of panting breaths, heaving chests, wandering hands, and meshing tongues; passionate embraces, intimate attachments. Things no Jedi should fantasize about, not under the code. Things that should bring shame to you, and maybe they do, and maybe you like it.

“Your body betrays you,” You’re able to muster, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth as you glance pointedly at his bulge. It’s only grown since you’d last glanced at it; evidently your visions did something to him too.

He sees, or perhaps, feels what you see, freezes, then clicks his saber off. The blade retracts with a hiss and there is a distinct vacuum of sound where its humming once was. He breaks the unnerving silence with a clatter as he tosses it aside, feet still firmly planted on either side of your hips. 

“It’s natural.” He weakly supplies, a poor defense, “It’s adrenaline-fueled, nothing more.”

“Really? So when you duel sith lords, when you chop the heads off of battle droids, you walk away with a stiff dick?” You carefully observe his body language, feet poised like he might bolt if you make any sudden moves. He’s flighty, and you have to make your next moves carefully.”

“Y/N,” He begins, his voice weak, “I wish you wouldn’t use such foul language.”

“Is it the language that bothers you?” You push your elbows against the mat, hoisting yourself up at an obtuse angle to meet his eye better, “Or is it the truth it carries? Obi-Wan, you were right. It’s natural. And it is not something to be ashamed of.”

“It is against the Code,” He reasons, his voice still fighting to sound resolute. He offers no other reasoning, and you know it’s because he has none.

“It’s not.” You insist, “The Code is ancient and rigid. And celibacy is not required, only a level head.”

“That’s the problem,” He chuckles weakly, “I don’t have a level head when it comes to you, Y/N.”

“You seem as though you do.” You press cautiously, careful not to push your luck, “I’ve never felt anything unprofessional about your feelings towards me.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around you in a long time,” He admits, “Not consistently. I was better at controlling it- no, hiding it when we were Padawans. I had to do it every day, it was natural to me. But I am out of practice now, and I have been since you were stationed here. I barely have the ability to hide how I feel about you, Y/N. And- and it is not something the Council would approve of.”

You sit up now, fully straightened. You’re still between his legs, but you’d need to rise to your knees for your face to be level with his bulge. You plan to.

“The Council is not here. Nor can they see us, or hear us, or feel us. They will not know what we do, Obi-Wan.”

“I will know.” He breathes, his voice growing weaker each time he tries raising it against you, “Y/N, I will never forget a thing we do together on this base. If we… If you touch me, I will remember every brush of your skin against mine for eternity. If you- kiss me, I will never be able to put the thought of your lips on mine out of my head. And I would not know how to live without it for the rest of my life.”

Your heart sinks in your stomach like a stone in water. He’s loyal to the Order, he always has been. But you’d been so blinded by isolation, so convinced by your own delusions, that you’d assumed his loyalty to you would be stronger. But it’s not, and you can’t earnestly be angry with him for it.

You swallow what little saliva has accumulated around your tongue to give yourself something to do, then rise to your feet.

“It sounds like you should walk away.” You mutter regretfully. His eyes hold the same feelings, strikingly painful. He nods, almost imperceptibly, but before he can follow your orders, you continue.

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

You feel it, his swell of emotions. Every single one is unbridled, yearning, heartache, fondness, want; all of them unleashed from the man whose mind is usually a fortress. They’re washing over you like waves, invading your brain and turning your thoughts their colors. 

“No. I couldn’t,” He admits, “But-” and there’s always a but, “The Council would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“They won’t know.” You insist, but it’s lost on him, “Obi-Wan, please make a decision. Who is more important, you or the Council?” Then in a more timid, soft voice, as his soft eyes bore into you and beg for mercy, you give him the opposite, “Who is more important… me or the Council?”

He kisses you. There is no warning, no shift in his Force signature, only his hands on your face and his lips on your own. There is strength in his touch, his hands firm where they pull your cheeks ever-so-slightly towards his face as if he’s trying to mash them into his own. His beard is rough and grating against your face, but it’s not unpleasant, especially when it brings with it his lips. His lips, which are much softer than you’d have imagined them, merely frame your own. The kiss is sweet but chaste, and the only indication you have that he wants more is the way that he holds you against him. Otherwise you’d mistake his courtesy for disinterest, and you tilt your head slightly sideways to encourage more enthusiasm from him.

When your lips reconnect he sighs, a breath from his nose that fans over your top lip. He’s letting you lead, letting you dictate whether you want to keep kissing him or whether you’ll suddenly switch positions; it’s like he’s afraid that you’ll rip off a mask and reveal yourself to be Master Windu, scolding him for his reckless passion. But of course you don’t, and you lick gently against the plush of his bottom lip instead.

He hums at the feeling of your tongue against his mouth, but he’s suddenly pushing against your cheeks instead of pulling.

“Are you absolutely sure,” He starts, but can’t seem to resist the temptation to steal another kiss from your spit-slicked lips, “That you- mm, that you want this? Because I cannot-” He breaks off with a weary, pleading, defeated look in his beautiful eyes, “I cannot turn back if we go further. If we proceed… I will not be able to forget what we do. If you’re not interested… please tell me now, so that I may save myself from loving you for an eternity that you do not wish to share with me.”

You scoff, moving in for another kiss at his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, only pushing you back so that you can respond.

“I just spent five minutes,” You pant, desperate to reconnect your lips, “Bargaining with you to get you to forget about your nerves. And you don’t think I want this?”

You try surging forwards again but he holds you back, eyes still begging for your words.

“Please. I need to hear you say it.” He seems almost self-conscious, worried you’re not interested in him the same way he’s interested in you. But you have been since you can remember, and you’re more than willing to work around the unconventional aspects of your relationship if it means you can have him, even just for today.

“I want you,” You breathe, the exhale hitting his lips, “Please- Obi-Wan, I want you. I want you no matter what the Code says. No matter what the Council says; I want you.”

He looks like he could cry. He is devoted to the Order, far more than you have seen most Jedi, and to hear you choose him over the Code must mean a great deal. He pours passion into the kiss you share, chest filling with oxygen that he gulps just to be able to keep his mouth on yours for longer. He consumes you, fingers pulling at your cheeks and tugging you closer still, like he thinks you might fuse if he tries hard enough.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue more exploratory now that you’ve pledged your devotion to him. He’s not afraid of taking now, of getting his hopes up only to be thrown down, and he swipes the wet muscle in a hot stripe over your own tongue. He rolls it against your lower lip, so wonderful to kiss for someone with such lacking experience.

“No one is coming,” You breathe, exhaling against his mouth as your hands wander to his waistband, “No one- no one can see us.”

“I want you in your quarters.” He protests, grabbing your wrists when your hand sinks to his bulge and ghosts over it. He jolts at the unexpected contact, but holds you back, “I want to lay you down, Y/N, I want to indulge in every part of you. Worship you.”

“I will let you,” You moan, tilting your forehead against his and mouthing at his lips in a sloppy kiss, “You may have me any way you want, Obi-Wan. But here, I- I want to have you. I need to have you now,”

“Impatient,” He notes, sounding suspiciously close to lecturing you. But he lets your wrists go, and you sink to your knees instantly. He hears them hit the training mat, knows they must ache, but he can’t find any part of him available to worry about it, not now that your hands are prying greedily at the waistband of his trousers.

He’s a near stranger to physical pleasure, at least in recent years. He’s a grown man, he has urges, but he also has responsibilities, and the constant pressure of an ambitious (read: reckless) young Padawan under his supervision mixed with a quickly-rising rank within the Jedi Order leave him with little time nor interest to indulge in his barest desires. Your hand gently squeezing his clothed bulge as you wrestle with his pants nearly knocks him off of his feet, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle having your warm mouth envelop it.

Finally you tug loose the drawstring within his pants, and yank them down his thighs. They’re seldom bare, you see from the milky white tone of the skin there, but they are muscled and thick like he does not neglect them.

You can’t help yourself when you lean forwards, tongue already protruding from your mouth to lick a fat, wet stripe around one of his thighs. It’s sturdy beneath your tongue that dips into the crease between his skin and the parts of it that are covered by his briefs. His muscles tense like you’ve struck him with a fatal blow, and an open-mouthed groan escapes his lips.

His skin tastes of the sweat that’s currently moistening every inch of your bodies, salty and tantalizing. There’s no escaping it in the brutal heat, but it makes him all the more sexy, his skin glistening before you even get a chance to smear it in your saliva.

You’re guilty of impatience as he accuses, and you can’t resist mouthing at his covered bulge. He’s half-hard, but when your lips purse around the outline of his cock in his briefs he twitches, and you feel him stiffen against the restraints of his underwear on your tongue. 

His knees give out with no warning, and he barely has the foresight to grab desperately at a bench press behind him for stability. He falls quickly to its surface, perching on the edge of it while you desperately chase his cock. You fit your mouth again over his briefs and drool against the fabric, surely soaking it through with your saliva. His cock, though restrained, is heavy and thick on your tongue, making your mouth water and produce enough drool to soak through his entire ensemble. His hands clutch the bench beneath him with white knuckles, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from shouting as you suck at his clothed cock.

“Oh, Y/N,” He pants, voice strained as you get lost in your task and forget that you need to actually pull his briefs down. He reaches for your head, gently nudging you away with his knuckles against your temple.

“Darling, please, I can’t- I won’t last for very long. Please, have me properly.”

He grips at the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down hurriedly and letting his cock spring free. It’s of decent length, but slightly thicker than average, its base shrouded by a patch of curled hair at his groin. It’s a similar caramel color to the rest of his hair, and his sweat has accumulated particularly within its wiry constraints, leaving him musky. The smell might bother you if it were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, but here and now, on your knees for Obi-Wan in the training room, it’s the most disgustingly tantalizing thing you’ve ever smelled in your entire life.

That’s why you bury your face into it, the hair tickling at your skin. His hips jolt as you inhale deeply near the base of his cock, groaning and letting your tongue fall to drag against just the shaft of his erect dick. He’s painfully hard, embarrassingly seconds to orgasm, and your spit now glistening on his length doesn’t help. Or it helps too much; either way, he’s close to cumming and you haven’t even had a chance to put him in your mouth.

“Darling,” He begs, pushing at your forehead once more, speaking through an eternal shortage of breath, “Please, I- it all feels too good. I can’t take it. I won’t last long.”

“That’s okay,” You pant, your breath falling over his cock as it practically pulses with pleasure, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

“Terrible,” He manages to chuckle weakly, but any further chiding he has planned for your cheekiness is cut short when he stops breathing. He actually forgets how when your wet mouth closes around the head of his cock, your tongue licking flat over its head and covering most of its surface area. It’s so much sensation so fast that Obi-Wan has to clench his hands around the bench not to cum right then and there, and he feels pinpricks of pain over his skin that he realizes are from his fingernails digging against his palms. When you draw your head back off of his cock with a slick sound, then move in again to take more of his length into your mouth, his lungs suddenly remember their function, and heave within his chest.

His groans are filthy and they only pool more slick wetness between your thighs as you kneel for him. You don’t care about the ache in your knees, nor the pain in your neck from the slightly awkward angle you’re indulging in him at. All that matters is his cock, heavy and thick on your tongue, sweat and precum alike flooding your taste buds. 

His restraint is put to the test. He’s a member of the Jedi Council, for Force’s sake, and he should have a little more control over himself than this. But it takes almost all of his energy not to buck his hips forwards and plunge the length of his cock down your throat, and it means that he’s not able to devote as much restraint to delaying his orgasm as he’d like.

He’s twitching in your mouth, and even with your faded Force abilities, mental muscles weakened by disuse, you can feel the tension coursing through his veins, hot and wild. You don’t need to look at his strained, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench to know that he’s devoting all of his energy to restraining himself, and you take pride in being able to undo Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with merely your mouth. You indulge in his painful hardness, tongue smoothly caressing the underside of his length as you bob your head back and forth around him. Each time you draw back you flick your tongue up and over the ruddy, leaking head of his cock, something that makes that fiery tension in his body glow even hotter.

“I’m going to-” He warns you, voice petering out weakly as he tries controlling himself, “I can’t- I can’t help it, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum,” You speak in unison, your word coming out muffled as you speak it against his cock. You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles impossibly tight beneath your fingers. You stroke them soothingly, encouraging him to unclench his jaw that’s wired so tightly that you’re sure his teeth are on the verge of cracking, “Cum, Obi-Wan, please.”

Even if you hadn’t asked him so kindly, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to withhold any longer. Not with your pretty eyes gazing up at him from between his legs, lashes latticing the tender emotions swirling in your gaze. Your fingers slide calmly, sweetly over the expanse of his thighs, and the mere thought of you digging your nails harshly into them and leaving marks is what elicits the final twitch of his dick on your tongue.

Evidently, you’re more in tune with his thoughts than he’d expected. You’d caught the quick image that had flashed through his mind, now completely unguarded to you, and you curl your fingers quicker than he can comprehend, carving searing marks into his thighs that will show up red for at least a week. Paired with the movement of your fingers, you suck hard at his cock, plunging your face forwards to nestle against the base once more. His tip hits the back of your throat with force and it makes you gag, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what sensation is more overwhelming: the vivid burning at his thighs, the way the tip of his dick nestles so securely into the warm, wet sleeve of your throat, or the way that you’re breathing in his sweat-marred scent like it’s the purest oxygen you’ve ever had in your lungs. All he knows is that together, they’re his undoing, and he lets out a rugged cry; he can’t control himself any longer when pleasure roars through him with a fury he’s almost frightened of. 

He’s always calm, collected, in control. But now he’s grabbing your face with shaking hands as he pumps warm spurts of cum down your throat, holding your jaw steady so that you can’t back away, not that you want to. He holds you in place while his thighs begin to tremble, your tongue continuously smoothing over the underside of his cock while it twitches in your mouth. He keeps himself fully nestled into the back of your throat while he cums, and if he had energy to be embarrassed about cumming as much as he was, he’d be apologizing. But he can’t, not when you’re swallowing him so eagerly, throat convulsing around the head of his cock and only milking more out of him. There’s obscene groans coming from his mouth, the kind that bring heat to your own core, and you think you could get off to the sound a thousand times over if you recorded him now. They’re deep, throaty, and desperate as he holds your face around his cock, gagging you on his dick as his orgasm takes control of him.

A part of your training that hasn’t left you yet was your extensive disaster training, in which you were taught how to extend the time for which you could hold your breath. That comes in especially handy when Obi-Wan’s hands cradle your jaw, keeping you snugly choking around his dick. You have to fight not to draw back at the strange sensation of your throat being plugged while his cum splatters against the back of it,, and you use all of your strength to keep yourself from panicking at the lack of airflow. You’re only slightly ashamed to admit that you’d willingly die like this, a fucktoy for his cock.

Once his orgasm has worked its way through him he seems to remember you can’t breathe, all of the tension having leaked out of his muscles. He inhales with a start, pushing against your cheeks and tugging his cock out of your mouth, “Oh, Y/N, darling- Y/N, are you-?” 

At the sight of your spit-soaked lips, tongue desperately running over them to collect any of the sweat that had accumulated there from being pressed against his pelvis, he lunges forwards to meet his lips with your own. He can taste the slight savory hint of his own release, your tongues meshing wetly and messily. He’s hunching now, even though you’ve straightened up on your knees, and he feels you clumsily palm at his dick, tucking him back away into his briefs. It makes his lips go slack with a gasp even though he’s just finished, and he’s more than eager to take you by the wrists and help you to your feet. You toss his undershirt at him with careless speed, and he nearly gets lost in its beige expanse from the way that his arms shake as he pulls it over his head.

“My quarters,” Your voice is thick and ragged, still recovering from your prior lack of oxygen, “We can- it’s soundproof, no one will know.”

“Yes,” He breathes, legs shaking slightly as he gathers the rest of the clothes he’d shed while sparring with you, “Um- we can... Anakin still hasn’t gotten the air conditioning running.”

“Uh-uh,” You shake your head, feeling nothing from the vent to your left, “Hurry, let’s go before-”

“General,” The door slides open, and you both startle, much less in tune with the force presences of those around you than you’d like to admit. One of your troopers sticks his head through the door, “The kid needs a multitool.”

You blink once, registering a slight soreness at the back of your throat, “Get him a multitool, then.”

You’re sure he can see your haggard appearance, and all apart from the glossy look of your lips looks like you’ve been sparring. Which you have, technically. You just hope Obi-Wan’s trousers don’t look like they’ve only just been hitched up around his waist again, or his shirt barely pulled down over his chest.

“I lost mine, general,” The trooper admits sheepishly. There was an abundance of the supplies that were offered to you before you’d been shipped out to this battle station, and more had been stocked for a long time in one of the supply closets, but your troopers are bored more often than not, and you shudder to think of all of the times they’ve used them as target practice by standing them on the balcony and opening fire. Apparently, you need to request some more from the next inspection team, as well as impress upon your troops the difference between an abundance of resources and useless clutter begging for a blaster wound.

“I have one in my quarters,” You sigh wearily, “Let’s see to it that we don’t misuse our equipment anymore, soldier.”

“Yes, General,” He nods vigorously, stepping out of your way to offer you the open door.

“Obi-Wan,” You turn apologetically, “We’ll have to continue our sparring match after I retrieve the multitool for your padawan. You’re welcome to follow us, though I’m not sure it’s any cooler out there than it is in here.”

“I’d like to stash my clothes somewhere, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan holds up the outer garments he’d shed, “I think it gives you somewhat of an unfair advantage if I’m liable to trip over my own tunics.”

You grant him a good-natured laugh as you pass your trooper in the doorway, and all in all, you think that the two of you have done a fantastic job at pretending his dick wasn’t in your mouth only minutes ago.

Your trooper makes the wise decision to stand outside of your quarters when you enter them, although any initial disappointment you’d felt at his poorly-timed request has well worn off by now. That’s all he’s guilty of, anyways; you find their antics amusing despite their destructive nature. It’s not his fault that you’re canoodling with the Jedi master, so you forgive him his abhorrent timing. You beeline for a locker in your closet, punching in the numeric code and letting the squeaky hinges reveal your small weapons store. It’s a multipurpose space, blasters on a rack that’s affixed to the back, a mount for your saber, and a drawer of various other mechanical supplies down below. You throw it open, and Obi-Wan watches you dig for the multitool where he stands by your bed, his tunics laid on your bedspread.

You realize all too late that one of your other mechanical supplies is in full view of the Jedi master standing behind you, black in color for subtlety but unmistakable in shape. It’s phallic and has a second prong that shoots off of the base to vibrate against your clit, something you only use when you're absolutely certain no one can hear. Besides, the sound could very well be mistaken for one of your troopers shaving their scruff, so you have ample opportunity. You snatch the multitool out of the drawer and slam it shut, making your trooper’s shoulders twitch in a quickly concealed wince. You’re thankful that only Obi-Wan was a temporary witness to your lack of organizational skills.

“Here,” You rush to hand it off, forcefully locking the cabinet and thrusting the tool towards the trooper, “Take it- uh, keep it, I’ll put in a request for more supplies tonight.”

“Thanks, General,” He nods warily at you, and you pity the way he’s taken your context clues and misarranged them to view your behavior as standoffish and exasperated with him, “My apologies again.”

“No worries,” You try not to snap at him, unnerved by the abnormal lack of mental pressure from Obi-Wan behind you. He used to tease you abundantly in your youth, prying at your mental shields and slipping snide remarks through the cracks while you fought to keep a straight face, but now that he’s laid his eyes on possibly the most embarrassing item you own, he’s completely still, completely silent.

“Goodbye.” You shut the door with a hydraulic hiss, and stand facing it until Obi-Wan speaks, pretending to fuss with the control panel.

“It seems you overlooked another multitool in that drawer,” His voice finally reaches over the silence, carefully bundled so that the underlying mirth is something you can only guess at, “Now I wonder if your battalion is really the cause of your foul mouth.”

“Shut up!” You whirl on him with cheeks blazing on opposite sides of your face like Tatooine’s twin suns, “Don’t tease me-”

“I’m not teasing you!” He insists, voice sounding aghast, like it’s out of the question, like he’s offended by the accusation, taking your arms into his grip when you look like you might shove him. His face is split into a smile - not a grin, which is reassuring - but a warm smile, even if there is amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Yes you are,” You scoff, and you have half a mind to pull away when one of his hands releases your arm and anchors itself against your face instead. It’s warm, rough from wear but impossibly gentle. You fight leaning into it for as long as you can, pride still bruised, but he leans in to press his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss. 

Typical.

You’d gagged on his dick ten minutes ago, and he’s kissing your forehead.

“Darling,” He hums sympathetically, tucking your face against his chest so snugly that you think it was engineered for the curves and bumps of your skin. You relish the hug he traps you in, the tender hold even though you’re interested in something more carnal, feral, hungry. His voice is strong and soothing as he speaks, and the vibrations thrum through his chest and against your face “You had my cock in your mouth not ten minutes ago. I’m not going to make fun of you for having a toy.”

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

“Such a foul mouth,” You admonish him, tucking your grin away between the haphazardly-righted folds of his tabard. 

He pinches at your side, fingers greedily prying at the soft flesh of your belly through layers of clothing you wish weren’t between your skin and his, “Yes, well, it’s because I’ve had yours all over me.”

His hand, similarly bold to his mouth, flattens out along the curve of your side, tucking into the space above your hip bones. The other stays in place against your cheek, finger running idly across the underside of your jawline. You don’t know whether the shiver that shudders down your spine is due to the ticklish nature of his touch, or the sensual area he’s chosen, but he feels your spine thrum, and he presses further into you like it was an invitation.

“Darling,” He starts, back to that well-practiced hesitancy, “If you still want to…”

“I do,” You nod, feeling sweat drip down the back of your neck and soak into the fabric of your tank top, “Do you think we have time?”

“Anakin can occupy himself with scrap metal and multitools for hours,” Obi-Wan recollects with a smile on his face that isn’t committed to fondness or resignation. You’re sure he’s proud of his padawan’s abilities, but not of the havoc he wreaks with them.

“Hmm, that might be cutting it close,” You pretend to debate it, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, and he lets out a laugh as warm as the runoff heat from his saber with none of the bite of its blade.

“You’d occupy yourself with me for hours?” He teases, but when you nod, it’s earnest.

“I’d occupy myself with you for the rest of my life, Obi-Wan.”

The breath that he draws in when you begin speaking is the last one he draws for a while. Instead he holds it there, letting it burn and sear at his lungs while he wonders if any words he could produce with it would contain even a fraction of the yearning he feels roll over him in a nauseating wave. Very little has ever made him want the life of a civilian - his home is between the opulent walls of the Jedi temple, but any walls he shared with you would be infinitely more grandiose if only for your place within them.

“Had you said the word,” He elects to speak the truth, even if it isn’t even a chip away at the trove of feelings he keeps locked tightly away in his mind for you, “I would have left the Jedi Order.”

Would have.

You know why he won’t now, and you’re not upset with him for the reasons. You understand them, even if you don’t relate to them.

“But Anakin…”

“I know,” You nod against his chest, fingers taking hold of his undershirt’s fabric edge and fastening there, “You made a promise to your master. And to him. And he needs your help. I wouldn’t ask you to leave.”

“Would you have? When we were younger,” He idly strokes down the length of your spine, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

“Maybe…” You admit, “Maybe if I’d known your trip to Naboo would bring about such change. Maybe if I’d known I only had a few years left with you as we were. But I didn’t. So I never asked. And I never will.”

He doesn’t react verbally or physically after your confession, but the silence that ensues isn’t an awkward one. Instead, he maintains his hold on you, and you feel a gentle wave of affection flow from him through the Force. Affection, appreciation, love, which you feel so broadly through the Force, but rarely so devoted to you yourself rather than the galaxy in its entirety. You’re no stranger to the feeling, but it’s different channeled privately between two people than it is as a way of life.

“Let us pretend,” Obi-Wan finally musters, his voice thicker than usual, though if you were not so in tune with him you wouldn’t have perceived it, “For the next few fleeting moments, that we are still young. That we don’t have responsibilities other than those to ourselves, and to each other.”

Though your youth may have escaped you, your mind weary with resignation and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened with the perpetual exhaustion of adulthood, his touch does not feel tired or incapable. It feels strong, firm, and mindful where it slips from your chin to your waist. His other hand sandwiches you between them, and you’re tilting your chin up to kiss him before he gives any indication that he’ll do the same. But he does, his boldness almost reset from the interruption you’d suffered. Like you need to coax him out of his shell again, like he’s worried you’ve somehow changed your mind.

You take the back of his neck in your hand, finding it slick and tacky with sour-smelling sweat, and pull him down so that his lips smash messily to your own. It’s a move he’s not expecting, and a startled groan escapes his lips as proof. You drink it, sucking it down your throat and pulling him towards the bed with the same backwards momentum. He’s nimble even if he’s unprepared, probably to do with his extensive agility training. You’re more than ready to fall back onto your bed when your calves butt against the frame but he lowers you down gently, with ease, drawing back from your kiss despite your fervent protests to watch you look up at him.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, your voice weary, “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not hesitating,” He answers, and you feel it to be truthful, “I’m admiring you, darling. I’m not unsure, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Prove it,” You plead, already pulling at the hem of your tank top. You peel its sweat-soaked binding off of your skin, showcasing the equally stained garment beneath it that keeps your chest closer to your neck than your stomach, “Please, Obi-Wan, take me like you want me. Not like you feel bad for having me.”

“I do not feel bad for having you,” He promises, mouth barely parting from yours to utter the words. His lips are pink-tinted, glistening with spit, probably a mixture of his and yours. He pants slightly, cheeks similarly ruddy, “Perhaps later I will. When I stand in front of the Council and tell them we conducted routine maintenance. When I lie, when I guard my memories of you from them. But I’m not occupied with that now, darling. Only with you, I swear it.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” You hum, kissing an inch lower than his mouth, the apex of his chin that’s marred by the scruff of his beard. It’s prickly and rough beneath your lips, and when you draw back they glisten with transferred sweat, “I’m glad you’re not thinking of Master Yoda while dipping a knee between my thighs.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, advances on pause as he plants his forehead against your shoulder, “That’s awful. Really, truly vile.”

You laugh, and despite his disgusted bravado, so does he. His chest shakes against yours and you relish the sound, hand still planted firmly on the back of his neck. You briefly consider breaking out your rusty Yoda impression, ‘kiss me, you must’, but decide against it, instead choosing to press his head closer to your torso, letting his forehead lay flush and sweaty against your shoulder. It puts the scruff of his beard on the curve of your tits, and you feel it burn your skin as he kisses along it lightly. 

His mouth is soft, and his beard is its abrasive opposite. They trail in tandem along the slope of your breasts, first the soft lips and then the burn of the beard, until he’s lit a fiery trail across your skin to the padded edge of your bra. When his lips meet fabric instead of skin he noses beneath it, surely smelling a morning’s worth of sweat accumulated beneath the weight of your chest. You’re self conscious, for only a flash, then he takes a deep drag of air, inhaling until his chest seems fit to burst.

“I’m sorry,” You find yourself humming, regardless of his clear interest, “I wish a shower would help. Even the cold water doesn’t prevent sweating.”

“I don’t want you to shower,” He muses, pushing his face between your breasts to kiss at the skin between them. He mouths gently, tongue sliding over your skin with little form and too much spit that blends well with your sweat, “Sex is not sterile, darling. Soap and water defeat the purpose.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his insistence on the natural state of your body or the way that his knee gently prods against your center, but whatever it is, your fingers itch and you fling them up to cup the underside of your chest.

“Take it off,” You beg, and Obi-Wan shows no hesitation in complying, his hands sliding beneath your back, rough and weathered from work. They’re gentle as they slide over the clasp of your bra, and you push yourself up onto your elbows on the mattress so that he can maneuver the stretchy fabric easier.

“Does it hook or button?” He nudges his nose against yours to ask, and your stomach flops at the question. Both the fact that he doesn’t have enough experience to know, and the way that he feels comfortable enough admitting that to you by asking so earnestly only make you want him more, and you’re barely able to mumble ‘clasp’ before pressing your lips to his own once more.

“Three,” You add later, against his lips, when he unhooks one and still doesn’t have the garment undone, “There’s three.”

He takes your orders with unfailing patience, a trait you’d admired even in your youth. While you’d been more prone to hotheaded outbursts, he’d take you by the arm and speak for the both of you, usually resulting in far less severe of a punishment than you’d have gotten if you’d spoken your mind. Then the two of you would share sneaky, fleeting glances at each other while scrubbing the floors of the refectory, trying not to laugh loud enough for the Knight unwillingly supervising your punishment to hear.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when he finally unhooks the garment and slips it off of your shoulders, meaning you have to draw back from where you’d tucked your face over his shoulder, giving him a view of his work. As your faces pass each other he offers you the same grin he’d worn all those years ago, his pretty eyes alight with the love you feel seeping from his fingertips. You see a glimpse of the boy he was through the man he’s become, and both are equally endearing to you. The first, because you’d grown with him, like ferns tangled together in sticky, clinging tendrils. The second, because he wears his accomplishments on his face, crows feet at the corners of his eyes from laughing at his padawan’s wayward antics, and frown lines for scowling at the same incidences only moments prior. He’d laughed at you in your youth, and frowned just the same at your more uncouth ideas for adventure, and now those expressions are etched into his face, like layers of makeup no longer dissolvable with remover. He’ll wear them forever, and you want to see him display them even in his old age.

He watches the way that your body moves when he peels the sweat-soaked garment away from your chest. He watches your breasts succumb to gravity’s harsh pull, sloping sideways and downwards rather than maintaining their tight compress towards your chin. He watches them sag, watches them fall to their natural state and declares, “You’re beautiful, darling.”

He takes them in his hands, their mass in his palms as he rolls his thumb over the skin of your nipples. They’d usually pebble in the cold but now they’re pulling taut beneath his touch, and when he brushes his thumb over their peak you stifle a gasp.

“Beautiful,” He repeats, and leans down to meet one with his mouth. He gravitates towards the right one first, and the embrace of his hot mouth against your skin tempts your back to arch. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, then drags up its surface, and his lips kiss over the stripe of saliva he’d left behind.

His beard rubs against your skin and it’s not rawing, not yet, but you know it will be the more he mouths at your breast. He’s licking, sucking, pulling, but never biting, teeth merely grazing your flesh rather than indulging in it. His tongue does that instead, flattening out over your raised flesh and dragging hot, wet stripes over the bud of your perked nipple.

“Obi- Obi-Wan,” You gasp, dragging desperate, heaving breaths into your lungs as your hands fly to his lengthened hair. You’d ruffled it many times when it was short and spiked, but now you’re able to get purchase in the strawberry-blonde locks, curling your fingers around the soft, sweat-darkened strands and pulling. 

You don’t pull hard, but it’s unexpected, and you feel the momentary pinch of Obi-Wan’s teeth around your breast. It floods heat to your already-pulsing core more than you’d have thought possible, considering the sweltering temperatures you’ve been in the whole time, but the soft groan that then ripples through your skin from the depths of his throat only makes you more desperate. All of a sudden the long-suffering heat is tepid by comparison, and you yank at the material of his undershirt so hard you nearly rip the fabric.

“Off,” You pant, “Please, take it- get it off, Obi-Wan.”

In a fluid, crouched movement Obi-Wan tears his undershirt off with one hand at its hem, his muscles flexing as he swings the arm up and over his head. He discards the shirt carelessly beneath him and it droops to the floor, no longer covering the bare skin of his chest that you’d admired earlier.

You have half a mind to do to him what he’s been doing to you, to sink your teeth into the flesh of his chest and suckle on his sweat-soaked skin. But he dips his face back to mouth at your tit once more, so you settle for running your hands greedily, desperately over the layer of soft skin that blocks his muscled chest from view. When he was younger, what seems like an eternity but must only be five years, his build was more defined. You’d gotten plenty of eyefuls of his bare, heaving chest during a particularly intense sparring match, or down by one of the large pools that were definitely supposed to be used more for reflection and tranquility rather than the chaos you’d wreaked upon them. But years of planning someone else’s schedule before his own has meant that he’s softened out around the middle, muscles still prominent when you dig your fingers into his skin, just not starkly visible anymore.

Age does that to a person; pushes them harder than ever before to achieve a less-defined result than they’re used to, but you find that you want to grind down onto the thin layer of pudge he’s accumulated just as much as you’d have wanted to drag yourself over his defined abs. The thought of doing both, either, anything makes you dizzy with desire that you express by scratching your sharpened nails down his skin, feeling his muscles shudder beneath your fingers.

“Darling,” He groans, choking on the word like it’s gagged him, “I- I think we ought to- are you ready?”

You marvel at his sincerity, at the idea that he’s not aware of the throbbing, slick mess that your core has become. You’d been ready twenty minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor beneath him, and you’ve only gotten more eager since then. His concern makes you want him more, and you use your grip on his soft hair to tug him upwards to meet your lips in a kiss. 

“I’m ready,” You breathe, laying the words out in a hazy moan over his tongue, “I’m ready, Obi-Wan, please- please take me.”

A groan melts from his mouth like molten butter, dripping over your tongue and down your throat. He pants, lets you suck his tongue into your mouth in a long, eager drag, then mumbles clumsily, “I want you. I want- I want to have you, darling, I want to take you.” His hips roll experimentally against your own, the tight pressure of his clothed cock digging into your panties as he nearly loses the function in the muscles that are holding him up above you.

He lets out another moan as you drag your hips up to meet his premature thrusts, and this time it’s a weaker sound, more strangled and mottled. It’s satisfying, knowing that you’ve reduced the ever-stoic, prized Jedi negotiator Obi-Wan Kenobi to a heaving mass of sweat and desire. His undershorts are rucked up around his meaty thighs, but he hasn’t yanked them off to free his stiff cock yet, so for a moment, all you do is grind against each other. 

The layers of clothing between you, one covering you and two covering him, provide frustrating boundaries but much-needed friction, and the scrape of his rough undershorts dragging against your thin panties makes your fingers curl into his back once more. You suspect that when he wakes tomorrow, your marks will still be there, and you take pride in knowing that he’ll have a very hard time forgetting you.

“Obi-” You really do intend to say his full name, but your breath leaves your lungs too quickly for it, and you revert back to the nickname he’d loathed as a teenager. Too juvenile, he’d protested greatly at the clipped diminutive, but he leans into it now. He licks the word right off of your tongue, his own plunging past your lips and dragging over your teeth in a messy, imprecise fashion. You get the sense that this is not about sex to him, it’s not about mechanics or equations or the perfect formula. It’s about you, and him, and you and him together. He doesn’t kiss you like a storybook prince because he kisses you like Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wants to lick the spit out of your mouth and suck on your tongue. Obi-Wan wants to feel, not think, for once in his life, so he does.

“Obi-” You falter again, hands traveling from his muscled back to his hips. Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his undershorts, then his briefs where they lay against the same stretch of skin, “Off. Off, please- Obi-Wan, off, take ‘em- off.”

He grunts his approval into your mouth, obscene squelching sounds coming from where his spit pools between your teeth and your tongue. He reaches down with a blind, clumsy hand to tug at his waistband, but when it doesn’t provide immediate results, he finds himself getting frustrated. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, not the frustration itself but his inability to control it, and he feels his brow crease in irritation as he reluctantly parts from your mouth to focus on the task at hand. All he needs is a little extra leverage to slide his shorts off of his waist, briefs bunched together, and as soon as they’re out of his way he’s reaching for your own underwear.

You crane your neck downwards to watch him, and the glimmering mess of saliva in your mouth practically doubles in volume at the sight of his red-tipped, rock-hard cock. It’s curved slightly up towards his stomach in its desperation, and there’s precum oozing from its tip, foaming and all too appealing. You want to suck him off again, to really choke yourself on it this time and never draw back for air, but there’s no time when he tugs swiftly at the elastic band of your panties, tearing them easily away from you. They drag beneath your thighs but he merely pulls harder, until they spring free and bunch up around your knees.

“Up,” Obi-Wan taps at your left thigh, and you struggle to bend your knees amidst their relentless trembling. He helps you, strength having stuck with him even when composure has abandoned its post. You get your left thigh up first, exposing your glistening cunt, smeared sticky with your own slick. His breath catches, you feel it stutter to a stop in his chest that you’re groping, and his eyes glimmer in the warm lights above you.

“Darling,” He breathes, taken by the mess of your drooling cunt. He reaches out, touches it carefully, with only the pad of his pointer finger. He ghosts it along the side of your slit, and even the infuriatingly chaste touch is ultra erotic. At the way you writhe beneath a single one of his fingers he brings his thumb up to stroke down your slit, catching wetness on his thumb that his mouth opens to accommodate.

He sucks your release clean off of his thumb, you’re almost certain he scrapes his teeth along his skin just to get it all. 

He leans into his own thumb, chases after it like he’s not the one taking it out of his mouth. He hesitates no further in clamoring backwards on the mattress until his knees hit the floor below, and he thanks the Force that the beds you were given are low enough for him to lean over the edge and bury his face in your cunt.

“Obi-Wan, no!” You plead, fingers tangling in his pretty blonde hair, “You’ll- you said- don’t cum yet, please, I- I want it in me!”

“I will cum in you,” He pledges, voice deep and determined as he nudges his nose against your wet cunt, “My darling, I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need you here, now. Please,” He breathes, his exhale shaky and warm as it heats your cunt, “Please, Darling, I want you here.”

“Have me,” You whimper, squirming your hips from side to side to propel yourself down the mattress. Your cunt bumps messily against his face that he doesn’t bother moving, and you buck your hips once, twice against his nose, riding his face, “Please, have me, Obi-Wan, you can have me.”

Your consent is all it takes. His mouth is open and his tongue is out the second you say the word, licking wet, tantalizingly slow stripes up your slit. He doesn’t breach it, doesn’t delve his tongue into your entrance, he laps at the slick smeared on the outside, as well as the wetness that has thoroughly soaked your thighs. Your skin is tacky with it even when he’s replaced it with his spit, and your cunt throbs at the meticulous approach he’s taken to appreciating every drop you give him. 

It’s too meticulous. 

After another slow, careful, nearly chaste lave of his tongue over the crease between your thigh and your cunt, probably just as soaked with sweat as it is with slick, you retighten your now-loose grip in his hair. You’d let go of the strands when he’d given you what you wanted, but now you want more, and you lead him straight to your core where he’d been lapping at your thighs instead.

“Here,” You beg, pulling his face against your drooling cunt until you’re certain he’s unable to breathe. You feel his nose breach your slit, nudged into your cunt by your insistent tugging on his hair.

“I need you here, inside, please.” You beg, pussy aching with abandon. His slow, careful ministrations had driven you mad, and now you are teetering on the edge of insanity as you nearly howl, “Please!”

His response is white-hot and wet. His tongue prods gently from between his lips as his jaw widens, and he watches your reaction as he fills your cunt with his slick tongue. A gush of your own wetness greets him, and as insistent as he is at meeting your eyes, his own flutter shut at the taste.

“Force,” He breathes, and the exclamation is uncommon from him. The muffled, garbled word sends vibrations straight into your cunt, and after the initial shock of his tongue inside of you, you feel his beard.

It scrapes abrasively against the sensitive, licked-over skin of your inner thighs, and prickles deliciously at the base of your leaking cunt. You feel sharp hairs prod at the curve of your ass, and his mouth moves fluidly, tongue wriggling with surprising prowess through the mess of slick you’ve accumulated in your cunt. It slides wetly along your inner walls that have made way for his tongue, and that will stretch eagerly to accommodate his cock. 

His cock, oh, you’d forgotten the thick weight on your tongue, and your jaw aches with the ghost of it. Your cunt aches, too, and when his nose softly bumps your clit you gasp as your hips jolt upwards. He catches your thighs with Jedi agility, his muscles not straining at all to hold you to the mattress. The casual, easy display of strength makes your thighs quiver, and something inside of you tighten like a knot.

He licks you out like he’s drinking ambrosia, the glistening substance smeared over his face and starting up the bridge of his nose. The noises that he makes are hungry and wild as he licks more, sucks more, takes more. He’d moderated himself at first, lapped the sticky spillings of your wet cunt like he was rationing a meal. Now he feasts, tongue losing focus from inside your pussy and rapidly licking over your clit. His lips suction on and his beard burns tantalizingly at your sloppy cunt. You feel stimulation everywhere, the knot below your belly tightening ever-stronger until you feel the beginnings of a fray. It’s a step you take, an incline that you scramble up, and each pedestal you achieve gives way to a higher one. You let yourself climb, climb, climb, against every pulse of his suctioned lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you breach the clouds as Obi-Wan broadens his sucking mouth to half-latch to your clit, his tongue delving back into your drooling cunt. You leap for the final pedestal and a surge of pleasure hits you, soaking wet like a wave that you ride back down to the surface. 

You tremble, you whimper, you love. Your thighs shake, the muscles in your stomach stuttering as your hips jolt and jerk. Your mouth produces such feeble sounds, whines and moans and ‘Oh, please, yes’s, and ‘Obi-Wan- kriff!’s. Your fingers in his hair latch tight but cling gentle, holding him to you as you lose control of yourself in the Force. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the attachment, all of the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-un-Jedi-like things that you’re not supposed to feel surge through the Force and hit Obi-Wan like Coruscant’s train, knocking the wind out of him, though he never stops sucking at you.

Obi-Wan licks you through your orgasm, tongue pressing tight and hot and wet to the quiver of your cunt, letting it spasm against his mouth. He sucks up every last drop of slick that you’ll give him, greedily mouthing at your cunt long after it’s begun stinging from oversensitivity. You want his mouth off, and his cock in, although that first part sounds like a heinous thing to wish for. His tongue is perfection, slippery and knowing you well enough to hit just the right spots even though it’s never had you before. You only push his mouth away to beg for his cock, but you’re tempted to let him white out your vision and lick at you until he passes out.

“Obi-!” You gasp, pushing instead of pulling at his golden hair, “Obi-Wan, no- no more! Here, up- here, please, and I want you inside of me.”

He lets you unlatch him from your pulsing cunt, rife with the sting of stimulation. You need only a matter of seconds to come down from your high, but they’re seconds you can’t afford to spend on Obi-Wan’s tongue, or the clock won’t ever start. He licks at a smear of slick over your thigh that he’d missed earlier, and his brain seems to register your begging.

“Alright, darling,” He pants, out of breath from the way he’d spent it all in your cunt. His voice is ragged, drowned in slick and thick with want.

He clamors back onto the mattress, all humbly-forged muscles and greed. He hovers over you, and dips down to claim your mouth the way he had your cunt: with broad, sweeping swipes of his tongue. He licks your slick across your tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

“I’m here,” He soothes, his voice a notch deeper than usual and his words malformed due to the open ring of his mouth. He licks against your tongue once more, sloppy and hot, as his hips grind down against your thigh. He knows you need time but he doesn’t have long, and he grinds against your hip until you’re ready. You feel his stiff cock digging into your flesh, and it sends pulses of energy to your recovering cunt that make it beg to be filled. He’s not composed the way that he normally is, but he’s managing to hold himself together through grunts and groans into your mouth. If you don’t act fast, he’s going to splatter your stomach with cum, which wouldn’t be distasteful by any means, but you’d rather him paint your insides with it.

“You are intoxicating,” Obi-Wan proclaims, speaking directly into your mouth, an addict that can’t wean off of his drug, “I don’t know how I am supposed to pretend like this never happened.”

“Don’t,” You beg breathlessly, “Don’t forget me. Keep quiet around others, and- and when you are alone,” You reach down to take his cock into your hands, heavy and thick and waiting, “When you lay in bed at night, when you touch yourself-” He lets out something teetering on the edge of a whimper as you stroke your hand along his flushed length, an angry red coloring the tip that exposes how much self-control he’s composing, “-touch yourself, and- and think of me. Think of my hands, of my mouth, of my cunt. Think of me, Obi-Wan.”

“I will,” He vows, his voice holding like a frayed rope with one thread remaining, strained and pulling and clinging together, “Please let me have you. Please,” He braces his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing in your palm, “Please darling, let me in. I want to be inside of you, I want to have you, please.”

You’ve never seen him babble before. Not when he’d been seven years old, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, caught with a stray tooka cat in his robes halfway back to the creche. Not when he’d been fifteen and a warrior, his side split open in a gory mess of blood and flesh and lymph and bone. Not at his old master’s funeral, the light from the pyre’s flames dancing upon his stoic features. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a master at composure, but he is breathless now, sacrificing it to the dewy-warm crease where your neck meets your shoulder, and sucking up your sweat-salty scent in return.

You place your free hand on his back, sticky and flushed beneath your touch, and use it to help guide him into you. Your other hand, still wrapped around his cock, lines it up with your entrance and he needs little coaxing from there. He pushes himself into you slowly, courteously, but loses himself to some deep, primal urge that he’s buried beneath layers of meditation and balance. 

He comes undone.

His muscles surge and his hips buck in what begins as a steady pace, but transforms into a wild rhythm that pins you against the mattress. He lets out a groan into the sweaty juncture of your neck, something that sounds like it could be from a beast and not a man. You feel the scrape of his beard against the seldom-touched skin there and you’re sure it’s growing raw, but you couldn’t care less. He’s not holding your hips up - his hands are plastered to your side and holding you there with a force carefully and pointedly short of bruising - but you angle your pelvis up anyway, allowing him to hit that much deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock never hurts where it connects briefly each thrust with your cervix, but you feel it intimately, every vein and ridge and curve that his body has to offer. 

You’re grateful for the sound-proof walls of the military compound because you realize after a moment that you’re making noise just the same as he is. It’s softer, quieter, but it’s there, the underlying harmony to his leading grunts and groans. 

All the while he is soft and gentle, because what he wants is not sex, it is you. Perhaps if he were a lesser man, he’d squeeze you, or bend you, or break you, all to take you the way he wants. But it is the soul inside of you that he’s after, and he takes great care with the vessel it’s enclosed in. He holds you, but he does not squeeze you. He kisses you, but he does not bite you. He moves with you, not against you. Your hips surge upwards to meet the thrusts of his cock and he latches his mouth to yours desperately, pleadingly. Your breathing is short and staccato through your nose, fanning against his top lip as he mashes it messily to your own, and you’re much easier to bring to a climax the second time around, sensitivity still roiling in your blood from your previous orgasm.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, the words spilling languidly into his mouth, as you move in tandem, in, out, in, out, forwards, backwards, everything, nothing.

“Obi- I’m gonna- ooh, I’m gonna cum,” You cry, overwhelmed by the consistent drag of his cock against the walls of your soaked cunt. You’re slick again, gushing enough to replenish however much Obi-Wan had licked out of you. It squelches as he drives his dick into your pussy, foamy from the repetitive motions that are only creating it at faster intervals.

“Please- please do,” He moans, his dick twitching inside of you, “Force, I- ah, there’s nothing I want more than to feel that, darling. Please- please cum, please-”

“Kiss me,” You plead, even though he’s never stopped, if the way that his mouth moves against yours can still be considered a kiss. It’s far from any conventional peck on the lips, mostly tongue and drool that seeps down the side of your mouth and into your neck, mixing with the sweat already lingering there from your workout.

He tries kissing you more neatly, his lips tightening and suctioning around your own, but the closer you both get to your impending orgasms, the sloppier his thrusts are, and the more slack his mouth goes, smothering your own instead of truly kissing it while his tongue continues its dogged pursuit of your own. It’s no matter; his spit leaks uncontrollably into your mouth and you relish the taste. You don’t need perfection, you need him.

You can’t help your wandering hand from snaking down to his waist, curving just below his cock to cradle his balls against your palm. They’re heavy and warm as you take them into your hand, and doing so elicits a gasp from the man chasing his release inside of you, his hips stuttering in their pursuit of the wet warmth of your cunt. You squeeze them, not harshly, just a gentle compression, and Obi-Wan melts. A whimper escapes his lips, still slack and pressed to your own, and though his thrusts momentarily slow, they resume at double the pace. He’s rapidly bucking his hips now, barely containing himself enough to lift one hand off of your side and bring it to your chest. He fits his palm over one of your breasts, your stiff, sensitive nipple caving against his palm. You gasp at the prickling sensation and your fingernails momentarily dig into his back, but when his dick twitches once more inside of you, desperate, fit-to-burst, you drag them down his back in searing red lines.

If you hadn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan cum inside of you, you’d have known it was happening from the cry he releases alone. It’s abrupt, like his orgasm catches him off-guard even though he’s been pursuing it. But you can feel it, you can feel his warm cum ooze out of the head of his cock, momentarily stationary as it’s snug against your cervix. You feel it gush from his dick, filling any and all available space in your pulsating cunt before flooding outwards, dripping down your ass and thighs in an obscene display that soaks right into your bedsheets. Obi-Wan rides out his climax at a pace rapid enough to coax your second one out of you, and you welcome the now-familiar sensation of cumming around Obi-Wan. It’s mind-numbing, your ears ring for a faint moment, and your cunt rapidly clenches and unclenches around his cock that’s all too happy to continue occupying the space.

He grunts, moans, and groans as his sloppy thrusts finally slow, and your cunt appreciates the reduced pace. You’re well and truly spent, difficult to achieve for someone who’d gone through endurance training since childhood, and you’re not surprised that Obi-Wan, too, needs a break. He lowers himself to your chest with a slow, shaky exhale, eyes closed and face glistening with sweat just as your own does. 

His beard grates roughly against your skin, shifted with every ragged breath that he draws in. His hair spills over the breast that his mouth isn’t nestled beside, and you stare down at his face, marveling how beautiful his barely-fluttering lashes and heaving chest are.

Before he opens his eyes he angles it towards you, so that the first thing he sees is your flushed, sweaty, open-mouthed expression. He’s in the perfect position to kiss the side of your breast, and it tingles with the phantom sensation of his palm flat against your perked nipple barely minutes before. His beard scrapes your skin like it has since you first kissed him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to live happily without the scratch of it against your cheeks, or thighs, for that matter. The skin between your legs is still raw, stinging with the friction of Obi-Wan’s coarse hair against your flesh..

“You look beautiful, darling,” He hums, his voice grated raw from fatigue. His breath fans hot over your chest, but he pushes himself up on his tired biceps to hover over you. His weight against you had been comforting, but his gaze is even more so, and you let him loom over you.

His chest, peppered with auburn curls so fine they glisten in the poor lighting of your quarters, rises and falls deeply in front of you. You have half a mind to bury your face in it; you might if his face wasn’t impossibly more captivating.

His eyes search yours, for what you’re not sure, but you realize that his breathing gets more shallow until his chest stills completely. He only releases his breath when you reach up to thumb gently at his sternum, loosening his lungs again.

“Do you regret it?”

You suppose you didn’t have to ruin the moment so harshly, but you want to know the truth. You want to know if this was worth it, or if you’re going on the list of regrets that Obi-Wan pours over obsessively.

He takes a moment to answer, but you suspect it’s because he’s been caught off guard by your question. He shakes his head, dipping his face down to kiss the swell of your cheek.

“No, I don’t.” He mumbles against the dewy skin of your face, hiding his words there in self-preservation. You kiss the fleeting scruff of his beard as he pulls away, and your eyes find the blue of his instantly.

“You needed convincing at first,” You recall warily, something sinking in your chest now that you’re not puppettered by lust, “Are you certain it was the right thing to do?”

“Not at all,” He admits, “In fact, I think it was wrong of me. But I’ve done it anyways, and I am happy for that.”

“Why wrong?” You ghost your knuckles against his cheek, and he leans into it like he used to do when you’d clean scrapes and cuts he’d acquire while sparring. 

“I am more attached to you now than ever,” He offers simply, but it doesn’t seem like it pains him to confess. He seems lighter now, less embroiled in his own anxiety.  “And I’m not certain I can keep my personal feelings- well, personal. I don’t know that I could think rationally about you. That’s not desirable to the Order, or to the war effort.”

You bite your tongue, teeth digging softly into its muscle.

“All the same,” He continues, “Jedi are not without attachments. Younglings form friendships in the creche, and their minders love them. Padawans love their Masters, and vice versa. Masters engage in relations,” He acknowledges, then his brows tick up and he considers, “Ki Adi Mundi has four wives. Perhaps I’m not the most blasphemous Jedi they’ve ever seen.”

A laugh comes tumbling from your lips before you can stop it, and Obi-Wan’s face softens into a grin of his own.

“Five,” You correct him, “He has five wives.”

“Force, he’s a heretic,” Obi-Wan exclaims, but it’s all for show; he holds no ill opinions of the council member.

“I’m happy for his wives,” You hum, the sound just short of a giggle, “But I prefer your beard over his.”

“Oh, but he’s got a better mustache than me,” Obi-Wan settles on his side facing you, a smile etched permanently into his features as he plays along with the banter you’ve started. He relishes its lighthearted nature compared to the hesitance of moments prior, “Maybe I should grow it out and curl it like his.”

Before you can offer him another round in exchange for a promise to never shape his facial hair around Master Mundi’s, the walls of your compound give a creaky grinding sound, then a rumble, and air whooshes through the vents you’ve come to loathe for their uselessness in the recent past.

“He did it!” You gawk, sitting up excitedly, nearly forgetting that you’re topless, “Oh Force, Anakin’s a wizard! He really is, he’s a mechanical wizard, and I’m going to buy him a speeder for this.”

“Do not,” Obi-Wan groans, sitting up beside you and tugging you easily to fit your back against his chest, “The last thing that boy needs is the ability to go faster.”

“He did it,” You sigh happily, leaning back and pressing your lips to Obi-Wan’s. He reciprocates easily now, unlike before when he’d run himself ragged with doubts.

“That means we’ll be off soon,” Obi-Wan reminds you gently, and you deflate slightly in his hold, “But I don’t think comming each other should be any issue.”

“Every night?” You suggest, kissing at the prickly cleft of his chin.

“That’s- ambitious.” He chuckles, but it’s not meant to tease, “Every night, darling.”

“You can send me dirty videos,” You gush, scrambling to free yourself from Obi-Wan’s hold when he tries locking his fingers onto your sides, nipping sharply at your shoulder.

“I will not!” He insists, voice firm but chest trembling with barely-withheld laughter, “Force, if I pressed the wrong button…”

“Perhaps Master Mundi could share it with one of his wives,” You laugh, scrambling back into your underclothes and heading for the fresher to clean yourself up, “Hurry up and get dressed, Obi-Wan, one of my troopers is probably on their way to tell us the good news!”

Your suspicions are confirmed only moments later, thankfully, after you’ve both had time to right your appearances. You look flushed and sweaty, if anything, but the cool air hasn’t managed to flood the entire compound yet, and you’ve been exercising, so it’s excusable. No one but you two needs to know that exercising didn’t mean sparring for longer than ten minutes.

“Anakin, you’re fantastic,” You call, rushing through the empty hangar where he’s standing near the ramp of the ship, “You’ve saved us all. I’m fairly certain my troops would have resorted to fratricide if we’d had to melt here for any longer.”

The padawan gives you a valiant effort at a polite chuckle, and you press on, “For the record, I told your master I’d get you a speeder for helping us today, but he said no.”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan starts, exasperated, but catches himself on the use of your first name. Perhaps it feels different now, coming out of his mouth much more measured than it had only twenty minutes prior. He doesn’t speak further.

Anakin’s eyes briefly glint at the fantasy of his own speeder, but he controls himself quickly. He’s a credit to his master, who manages to look convincingly like he hadn’t just broken a very long streak of celibacy. Still, you appreciate that war hasn’t managed to suck the most basic of excitements out of the child, and you reach up to pat his cheek in a gesture distinctly un-Jedi like. 

“Take care of yourself, and don’t let Obi-Wan bore you with a million lectures on economics, or politics, or the two combined.”

Anakin nods, but bites his lower lip to refrain from smirking, saving himself a lecture on sass later on. You hear Obi-Wan exhale huffily behind you, and you turn your attention to him when Anakin retreats onto the ship.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to my apprentice’s willfulness,” He grouses, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in fondness for you both, “He’s got enough of that on his own.”

“Take care of yourself,” You ignore his teasing, your voice tender and sweet, slightly more than it had been for Anakin, “I know they don’t send you out much, because he’s only fourteen, but- but please take care of yourself, Obi-Wan.”

Perhaps if Anakin hadn’t been lingering on the ramp of the ship, perhaps if there weren’t five clone troopers stationed in the hangar, perhaps if you were the only two people in the world, like it had felt less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan would have kissed you. But he doesn’t, all he does is nod, 

“We will,” He vows, and you nod, satisfied.

“I mean it,” You continue, more threatening than your earlier sentiment, “Comm me.” And you think back to the request you’d made earlier, breathlessly, the words fanning out against his sweaty skin, “And… think of me.”

You know he’s recalling the same moment in time when his cheeks tinge pink.

“I will,” He promises, singular this time, confirming your suspicions that his mind is flashing with visions of your flushed skin beneath his hands, “And please take care of yourself, too, General.”

Something hard and aching tugs at the back of your throat at the honorific, such a far cry from the intimacy you’d shared. But now you are General Y/L/N, and he is Master Kenobi, and that is the way things must be in the presence of others.

“Master Kenobi,” You bow, bending at the waist and noting the soft tug of soreness there.

“General Y/L/N,” Obi-Wan mimics your gesture, hands folded neatly into the sleeves of his robes.

He turns. He pivots on his feet and strides up the ramp of the ship they’d taken, Anakin waiting until he’s passed through the doorway to follow behind him. The door hisses shut, concealing them both, and the mechanical whiz-kid has the engines powered up in no time. You watch their ship take flight and navigate the narrow entrance to your hangar with ease, waiting until they’ve passed each temperature-isolating layer of defense that enshroud your compound and disappear into the planet’s heat-hazy atmosphere to turn away.

“General,” One of your troopers lingers behind you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” You put on a convincing show, smiling serenely, “I’d just forgotten how much of a challenge sparring with Master Kenobi is. I’m fatigued; I think I’ll retire to my quarters for some rest.”

“General,” He nods, stating your title like a vow of loyalty, standing at attention as the hangar doors finally shut you in. 

You walk the familiar path to your sparse quarters absentmindedly, feeling that same twinge of achiness each time you take a step. Only once your door hisses shut do you release the prim tension in your shoulders, slumping and slouching like you’d just escaped the throes of battle. 

There is a shirt on your bed.

It’s white, though it’s been worn thoroughly, so the color is muddied ever so slightly with the tan tinge of sweat. It’s rumpled, from a hasty removal. It’s laid over your poor excuse for a blanket, cream-colored against the starkly contrasting black fabric. It’s impossible to miss, which means it had to have been placed there deliberately; it wasn’t forgotten.

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

You overcome your momentary stun and pad towards the bed, reaching for the shirt with a hesitant hand. You take it, feel it ever-so-slightly damp with lingering perspiration, and your stomach flips.

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

The shirt winds up snug around your pillow, tucked beneath the Republic-issue linen. It’s invisible to the outside eye, but when your nose is pressed gauchely into the pillowcase you can smell Obi-Wan through it, a mix of natural and artificial scents.

The musk of cologne and the acrid smell of sweat. Composure and lust. What is right and what is wrong.

You and Obi-Wan.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Them with a reader that worships another Archon

characters: Venti / Zhongli / Ei / Furina x gn!reader (separate)

warnings: none

a/n: Didn't write for Ei in a long time... not to mention Zhongli and Venti, so if I got some of their personality traits wrong, I'm sorry.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Venti 

“Let’s hope you’re not made out of sugar, or else we’re gonna have a tiny problem”, the Bard joked once he took a glance out of the window, the heavy rain and thunder that had come seemingly out of nowhere difficult to notice, even for the drunken inhabitants of Angel’s Share.

“Rain’s a nuisance at best, I’ll be fine”, your response lacked any signs of the usual annoyance people would feel in this situation, whether it was the alcohol or your attitude towards rain that made you seem almost relaxed was up for debate however.

Just as the words had left your mouth, a giant lightning caused the room to light up, soon followed by a deafening thunder, earning you a grin that spoke more than a thousand words. “Still only a nuisance?”

“Sure, the Raiden Shogun will protect me from the lightning”, came your dry response, causing the bard’s ears to perk up. Truth be told, he couldn’t care less about whatever god you were worshiping, forcing people’s hands or getting grumpy over their decisions was hardly the God of Freedom’s modus operandi. Although this did open up a whole new conversation topic.

“Want me to pass your mighty Raiden Shogun a message the next time I see her?”, Venti offered with a smirk, drawing a laugh out of you almost instantly.

“Yeah, sure Venti. I have no doubt you’d be able to play your way into an audience with her, especially since the last time you stepped foot into Inazuma went so swimmingly”, you jokingly responded, waving goodbye before readying yourself to run back home through the rain.

Zhongli

There was neither law nor contract that obliged the citizens of Liyue to worship Rex Lapis. Sure, the Archon might have been the city's patron god and had descended each year to give instructions and advice, but who’s name spilled out of its citizens' lips during their prayer was none of Zhongli’s business. 

And yet, when he heard a particular name slip out of your mouth, the Archon couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows for the briefest of moments.

“Thank Barbatos, I was starting to think I’d never find it”, you let out a relieved sigh once your eyes finally spotted the pin on the floor, glistening as if it was calling out for its owner before quickly finding itself stuck onto your coat once again, your lips forming a small smile.

“Hmm? Is something the matter?”, you once again turned towards Zhongli, not missing the conflicted expression that had since long been replaced by his usual smile.

“Not at all. I was simply surprised for a moment, Barbatos Worshippers in Liyue are pretty scarce after all, although there’s certainly nothing wrong with having another Archon as one’s Deity.” His explanation was enough to satisfy you, as your conversation quickly shifted back to the previous topic. And yet the scene remained on his mind for quite a while.

Let’s hope you and your god’s paths never converged… for your faith’s sake.

Ei

Hearing you mumble another Archon’s name in your brief prayer before eating caused Ei’s hand to freeze just close to her mouth, leaving the small sweet hovering in front of her face as her eyes remained fixed on you, the silence gradually causing your face to turn all shades of red as you tried to hide your tenseness behind a polite smile.

“I didn’t know you worshiped Rex Lapis”, Ei stated, her tone coming out more accusatory than she ever intended, causing a small apology to follow shortly after, bringing the tension of the room down significantly. 

Humans were entitled to their own decisions, and yet hearing you worship another god left a… bitter taste in her mouth. Especially since she wasn’t sure whether or not it had to do with her or was totally unrelated, the thought that you liked another Archon more than her filling her with jealousy, no matter how ridiculous she knew the whole situation to be.

“My family originally came from Liyue, so praying to Rex Lapis before meals is somewhat of a tradition for me… even if I don’t worship him on many other occasions”, you explained sincerely, remembering scenes of sharing meals with your family as a small smile made its way onto your face.

Whether it was because of your explanation or the gentle expression on your face, but whatever semblance of jealousy Ei felt within her swiftly melted away, her shoulders relaxing before she finally took a bite of the food in front of her, the corners of her lips rising when you did the same.

Furina

Truth be told, when Furina heard another Archon’s name come out of your mouth she felt a wave of relief wash over her. The last thing she wanted was for you to put her on a pedestal, no matter how attention-seeking she could be from time to time. And while she couldn’t blame those still seeing her as their Archon, considering how she had played the role for generations, she wished for your relationship to be one of equals instead of a god and her worshiper.

“Ah, I guess praying to another Archon in front of a former one is a bit rude. I’m sorry-”, you rushed to form an apology once you noticed Furina’s silence, your face growing red in embarrassment and shame before being cut off by her.

“It’s fine, I’m not as vain as to feel slighted by such a non-issue”, she lifted her hand before waving you off, a smirk on her lips as she thought of what to say next. “I am no longer an Archon after all, so having people worship the grass the Archon ‘Focalors’ walks on would only serve as a distraction from how mesmerizing the great Furina is.”

A chuckle from you was all it took to bring her back down from her ego-trip, your smile quickly spreading over to her, and before she knew it, she was snickering herself.

“Alright, let’s get the great Furina a dessert as reward for her inexhaustible modesty.”

[dashofmonsters]

Cream Tea Pt.1

Male Werewolf x Female Reader

It was time for a change and time to get away from mom and dad. Your life had been carefully constructed to a tee down to where you would work and what sort of man you were to marry. This was all you had known until you visited a small town during an exhausting weekend. It was quiet and peaceful and everything you wanted and felt deprived of. Back home you did everything in your power to make this secret move happen and it is happening. It's now or never though and with the help of your only friend, you make your move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loading a moving van in the middle of the night is an absolute nightmare but you can't stand to be here any longer. Your folks had been irritating you with one thing after another. First it was the gala, then showing up at your office and demanding that your boss give you a better position, and now they're wanting you to meet with the eligible sons of their friends to find Mr. Future Husband. That had been the last straw in your opinion and there had been many many more prior.

Leighann, your only friend and savior had been helping you put together 'Operation Runaway' for the last year. It has been a labor of love and freedom and now it's in full force. You had everything planned out and ready and there have been no hiccups at all. Everything was boxed, your notice at work had been given in secrecy, and your parents have been none the wiser.

"That's the last of it," one of the movers grunts, shoving the last box into the van.

"Alright, thank you," you tell him as you fish out tips for the guys. They had worked fast and efficiently and more than deserved it. Their faces lit up and one of them tipped his cap to you.

You look around the parking lot at your apartment and cross your arms, your nerves on fire but in the best possible way. You're about to be hundreds of miles away from here and out from under your parent's thumb.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," you sigh.

"Feels kind of surreal huh? Just last week you were rubbing elbows with an elite crowd and now you're about to move to butt fuck nowhere that no one has ever heard of," Leighann wraps an arm around your shoulder and swings you around.

You laugh and roll your eyes, "It's a nice small town and it's the exact change I need."

Leighann pokes at you a few more times as you let the relief settle into your bones. You're finally getting out from under your family's thumb, you're finally getting away.

You've been the baby of the bunch, having four older brothers who tower over you physically and financially. Your parents saw you as an investment, something to make pretty and to show off to their equally well to do friends with sons.

For years you put on a mask, a well created facade of happiness as you went through pageants, galas, auctions and whatever horribly boring events you were dragged to.

Last year was the worst though, when you started having enough of them parading you around. The three of you had flown over to this beautiful resort where they had showed you off to every bachelor, for a couple years younger than you to nearly sixty!

You had to quietly retire saying all the mingling had made you light headed, something your mother understood quite well after enough glasses of wine.

Instead of heading up to your room, you went down and had your rental car brought to you. No matter where you were, you always made it a point of having your own vehicle, something your parents so painfully allowed you to have was your own freedom.

You drove around and around for a little over an hour until you ended up in a sleepy little town surrounded by trees and had cottage like homes and buildings. There was a group of elderly ladies walking together and they smiled and waved as you passed by.

For some reason that made you cry. You had to pull over at a nearby shop because you could barely see past your tears. You started rubbing your eyes and you knew at that point your makeup was absolutely ruined.

Someone tapped on your car, a little old lady with red cat framed glasses and red and white striped apron. Her grey curly hair was puffy and had a cartoonishly large red ribbon on the side. You rolled down the window and she shook her head at you and handed you a wad of napkins.

You couldn't help but to laugh as you took them and cleaned up your face.

"Now now, why don't you get out of that car and come and tell Mama Joy why you're crying the paint off your face?" she nods her head to the building she came out of, a small little tea shop.

You double check your face real quick before you unbuckle and exit the car. Mama Joy has you follow her into what is possibly the cutest tea shop you've ever been in. The front is filled with potted flowers and bells and wind chimes hang from the ceiling where fairy lights dangle. The tea room has mismatched chairs and tables giving it a whimsical personality.

"You like spiced tea dear?" she asked.

"Yes I do but-"

"Thomas! Throw on a pot of that spiced stuff you made earlier, we have a guest," she hollers towards the kitchen.

"Roger that," Thomas hollers back to her.

Mama Joy has you sit down in a comfy green chair and takes your hands, "Now then, why don't you tell me what's got you so upset today?"

You sigh and feel your chest tighten, "It's...it's a lot."

She smiles and gives your hands a reassuring squeeze, "Then you best get to talking then."

And you do, you tell her about that evening and all the other parties and galas you've been shown off at. About your parents and your brothers, about all the men your parents tried to set you up with. You told her everything.

You don't know when you finally calmed down but when you did, Mama Joy places a warm cup of tea in front of you. It smelled like oranges and chair and you couldn't wait to try it. You added in a little cream and sugar and took a sip. It warms you up instantly and you try not to cry again.

"I can't say that I've been in your position but it sounds to me that you're at the end of your rope with your folks. You're your own person, not a little doll or show dog. Why you haven't tired of this sooner is beyond me," she shook her head and sighed.

"I've been tired of it, but I've had to put on this fake smile for so long... I forgot how miserable I am," you frowned and ducked your head.

A cinnamon roll slid right in front of you as you're looking down causing you to look back up at the man who placed it there.

He was tall with long honey brown wavy hair that looked like it went down to the middle of his back, he had a well kept beard and the most gorgeous amber eyes you've ever seen.

"You look like you need a little pick me up," He smiled with so much warmth in his eyes.

"Oh and none for me?" Mama Joy huffed at him.

He laughed and tsked at her, "You know you can't have any Mama."

"I am nearly eighty, I can do without a foot," she scoffed before cackling.

He gave her a knowing look before rolling his eyes, "If she bothers you too much you can always leave."

You couldn't help but to smile at that, "No no, she's been... nice."

Mama slapped the table, "Why the pause? Did you really have to think about that?"

After that you, Mama, and Thomas spent what seemed like forever just talking, having tea and trying to keep the sweets away from the owner of the cutest little shop you've ever been to.

The night dragged on with Mama having you and Thomas accompany her to a little restaurant her cousin owned. It was a little bit of salsa club mixed with just the appetizers of a Mexican restaurant. You and Thomas had a mocktail while you both watched Mama Joy dance with a Mr. Emmitt.

"They have been into each other for so long I'm surprised they haven't started dating," Thomas commented.

"How long is so long?" you asked.

He shrugged, "Three years give or take."

"Wow, and this is as far as they get?" you watched Mr. Emmitt spin her around as she laughed.

"Yup. Though I think that they're both happy with this arrangement. I think they're still in love with their late spouse but too scared to try to love again," He sighed.

"Tragic and beautiful," you muttered.

"That it is, that it is. What about you? I came in on the ass end of whatever was making you cry, was it some jack ass?" He asked.

You laughed, "More like the lack of a jack ass. No, my parents want to marry me off and age doesn't matter anymore. I think the oldest guy was in his sixties."

Thomas cringed, "That's horrible!"

"I can't take it anymore, I just want to get away from them," you said, finally voicing the one thing you've been wishing for your whole life.

"Then why don't you?" he asked.

You smiled, took a sip of your mocktail and shrugged, "It's not that easy... I have very little in my name and I had to fight tooth and nail just to have my own apartment to have my own space."

Thomas shook his head and sighed, "What if you just up and left? Said nothing and got the hell out of dodge?"

You opened your mouth to argue with him then shut it.

"That," you started. "That's not a bad idea."

"Seriously?" He raised a brow at you.

"No no, you're onto something. I just started a job too and if I save up enough... This might actually work!" you set your drink down and fished out your phone.

"Woah hey, don't you think you should think something like this over a bit more? Make some plans first?" Thomas took your hand with the phone in it.

"Oh gods, you're right. I just... I feel like this will actually work and I just... I feel so stupid for not even considering just leaving," you smiled at him.

Thomas' eyes widened and he withdrew his hand, "Don't call yourself stupid, if anything call your folks' choices stupid. It's costing them a daughter."

Your lip blubbered and you felt like crying again just because you're not used to people being genuinely nice and sweet to you aside from your childhood best friend Leighann.

"Hey now, come on no more crying," Thomas extended his hand and nodded towards the floor. "How about it? Care to dance?"

For a brief moment you consider turning him down but something inside of you seems thrilled about dancing with him. He's rugged and absolutely sweet and saying no just doesn't feel right. So you took his hand and let him lead you to the floor.

He danced with you like you were two awkward teens slow dancing at prom. Your feet got stepped on so often that you laughed each time he shuffled onto them. He nearly ran you into the elderly couples who giggled at his horrible dancing. And he was so off beat.

But this was the most fun you've ever had dancing with anyone, ever.

After a while the dancing died down and Mama Joy pulled you both aside after Mr. Emmitt kissed her hand and waved goodbye.

"I said it once and I'll say it again, you have two left feet boy," Mama Joy poked at Thomas and he grinned.

"Well I was hoping that tonight I might have found my right foot, looks like it's still lost," he shrugged.

The two of them bantered until Thomas got a phone call he couldn't ignore from a relative leaving you and Mama Joy alone.

"You seem to have brightened up a lot, feeling better?" She asked.

"Much," you nodded. "I think I have a plan now."

You tell her the idea Thomas had given you earlier and Mama's face lit up with intrigue. She threw in a few other ideas and her phone number as well saying that she knows some people with homes for sale or rentals for when you start looking.

By the time Thomas got back you had a sense of relief fully settled into your bones. You had the base for a great runaway plan, support, and a place in mind. Things were looking up.

Mama Joy suggested that you head back since it's getting late but not without giving you the strongest granny hug you've ever received.

Thomas walked you back to your car at the tea shop and when you held the door open for you, you felt this odd sense of sorrow like you're really really going to miss him. You think of giving him your number but you fear he might take it the wrong way.

As you settled into the car and strapped your seat belt on you see Thomas from the corner of your eye kneel till he's at eye level.

"Whatever happens, just remember that change isn't easy, especially if it's for something you need. Sometimes it seems easy in the beginning until things destroy your expectations," He gave you a sad smile and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'll try and keep that in mind," you said, squeezing his hand back.

Moments passed with the both of you holding hands not sure when either was going to break away, but eventually, Thomas did. He stood up awkwardly and bumped his head on the car but laughed it off.

He waved you away after telling you goodnight and walked back into the tea shop.

You drove back to the hotel and passed out after you peeled your heels off and bounced into bed.

The next day, you wasted no time getting things started. You called Leighann up and told her everything that happened last night and she was all ears. Things only got better once you were back at your apartment in New York. Leighann had a full on financial plan, movers, and so on planned out in a little according file for you.

A few months later, you called up Mama Joy and she was excited to hear that not only were you planning to move but you wanted to move to her sleepy little town.

Her friend Linda owned a few homes for sale and one of them was in your price range. After some back and forth conversations online, you eventually sign the papers. You'll have a house, you're own house, in a few months!

You spend time packing when you can and selling decor you don't really care for online for cheap. Most of the decorations you own were terrible holiday gifts from different relatives saying that your apartment lacked any personality.

Surprisingly, you made a good bit of money from selling the horrid things that adorned shelves and walls. Enough money to top the movers and for gas to get to the new house!

To keep your parents off your back, you'd kept up your attendance at their stupid events until a few days ago. You feigned being too sick to attend, saying that someone at work brought in a cold their kid had brought to them from school. Your mother sounded horrified and suggested that you rested for at least a month with little to no contact with the family. You feigned sorrow with a touch of understanding.

And now here you are, packed up and ready to move. Leighann was going with you to help with the long drive and to help get the boxes and furniture into your new place.

"Do you need to go back up and double check the place?" Leighann asks.

You shake your head, "Check listed everything. I think we're good to go!"

"Then let's do this," She grins and the both of you pile into the moving van.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took three days to go from New York to the sleepy little town of Daire Glen. Autumn leaves scattered about as you drive down the main road. Leighann points out to a group of little old ladies in hiking gear and bright colored scarves. You instantly recognize one of them as Mama Joy and quickly roll your window down to wave.

"Look who's finally arrived!" Mama shouts as she waves at you.

You feel a smile spread then and all the other ladies greet you as you slowly pass the group.

"Was that Mama Joy?" Leighann asks, having talked to her on the phone quite a bit.

"Absolutely," you reply.

Leighann then recalls all her conversations with her, from the hottest gossip from the tea shop to the little updates about Thomas she'd give you.

That, that was another thing.

As far as Mama Joy said, she hadn't told Thomas you'd be moving here. Something about a pleasant surprise for the both of you though you have no idea what she meant by that.

You did know that you'd be working with him though. Mama Joy had decided to hire you even though you had no background with the restaurant service or anything of the likes. But she did know that you'd need a job, even if it was part time when you got here.

"Turn right at the next light," Leighann gasps, having nearly forgotten she was on direction duty.

You follow the directions she gives you until you're in the nicest little neighborhood you've ever seen. All the houses were one story and had lush wildflower gardens and flowering trees. Some houses had large stones bordering their garden beds while some had moss covered grey bricks.

Slowly and in near disbelief, you pull up into your new driveway and almost start crying.

"I'm home," you smile, your lips still quivering.

"Yeah no, none of the photos did this place justice. It's gorgeous," Leighann gapes as she opens her door.

As you step out the first thing you notice is the smell of rain and spiced tea. The smell is so familiar that you're instantly taken back to the first night you were here.

"Want to unpack first or walk around the place and let it soak in that you've escaped your parents?" Leighann asks.

"You and your tough questions, but we should probably start unloading," You shrug and head back into the van to repark it to make it easier to unload.

You pull up the latch and the second you see your boxes and furniture, you realize you should have probably called some people over to help unload.

"Want me to see if there are any strong men around here to help us unload?" Leighann puffs out her chest a flexes jokingly.

You laugh and shake your head, "This is a retirement town Leigh, I doubt there will be a lot of any strong men around here."

Leighann groans but quickly perks up, "Oh really? Then what about him?"

Raising a brow, you look in the direction Leighann pointed to with her thumb and your jaw nearly drops.

"Thomas?" you say in disbelief.

As if he heard you, Thomas looks your way and drops whatever was in his hands and dashes over towards you.

Leighann tries to pull you away but you wave her off.

"What in the world are you doing here!" Thomas asks as he sweeps you up off the ground and into a big bear hug.

"I'm moving in," you squeak.

"Moving in? Here? At this house?" He asks, his brows high up on his face.

You grin, "Yes, I am moving in at this house, in this neighbor, in this town. Mama Joy helped helped me."

He squints and kneels to he's at eye level, "This isn't good, do you know what this means?"

You shake your head feeling nervous for the first time in a while.

"We're neighbor's now which means Mama Joy knows where you live which means she might try and kidnap you and convince you to give her sweets," he makes a fake pouty face then laughs.

"I'm messing with you of course, but she might come to bother you from time to time. She gets lonely when Mr. Emmitt gets too busy with his stained glass gig. Anyway are you waiting for help?" He asks, noticing the mountain of stuff and two noodle armed trust fund babies.

"Ah, about that...," you blush in embarrassment. "I kind of forgot to call ahead of time and-"

"We need help, like really really bad," Leighann butts in.

Thomas cocks his head to the side and pats his pants until he pulls out a phone, "I got a couple buddies who owe me a favor or two I can call over."

"That would be amazing," you clap your hands together.

"On one condition though," Thomas raises a finger and winks at you. "We all have dinner at my place afterwards."

You grin and nod, "Sounds like a deal."

Within fifteen minutes a group of guys show up and start pulling the boxes and furniture into your new house with you directing them where to put everything.

Thomas of course helps but with much more enthusiasm. He lifts the heaviest pieces of furniture, brings in the most boxes and even helps unpack some things. The other guys poke at him like they know something you don't but right now, you're just thankful for the help.

"Me thinks you've unintentionally made the very handsome neighbor fall for you~" Leighann elbows your side.

You glare at her, "I highly doubt that, he's just really nice."

"No no, I think your friend might be right," one of the guys, Tyler, agrees.

"Oh for sure, I've never seen him act all...," Rick starts and waves his hand about, "Swoony was it? Mama Joy said he pouted for days after you went back to wherever you went and regretted not getting your number."

Tyler laughed, "I don't think I've ever seen him that mopey either."

You roll your eyes, "I doubt that... And that," you pause and take a box from Ricks hand, "That is personal and I will be taking that."

Stomping off you feel a bit insulted for Thomas that his friends would joke about him like that, especially to you. For the short time you've known Thomas, and it was very short, you got the impression that he's just genuinely nice to everyone.

Sighing, you take your very very personal box of toys to your bedroom. Thomas is in there setting up your mattress on your bedframe and without a shirt on.

You nearly drop the box when he turns around and smiles at you, "Got everything in here."

"Oh um, great, thanks," you smile and try to casually toss your top secret toy box into your dresser.

"How's everything going out there?" he asks, running a hand through his thick hair.

"Pretty uh good, nearly got the kitchen set up. Leighann and I thought we'd be unpacking all week. At this point she'll be here just to visit," you shrug, still doing your best not to stare at his bare and hairy chest.

"That'll be nice for the both of you then. It gives you more time to settle in and find a job if you haven't already," he replies, grabbing his shirt off the bedframe and tossing it on his shoulder.

"Oh uh well about that, Mama Joy already sort of hired me," you give him a nervous grin.

Thomas' face goes blank for a second before he lets out a barking laugh, "Oh of course she did!"

"I'm really wondering why she didn't say anything to you," you groan and slap your face. "I feel like a nuisance just popping up like this now."

"Woah hey hey, none of this is your fault," He walks up to you and puts a hand on your shoulder. "And you're not a nuisance. Mama Joy just got bored and thought this might be funny or something like that. You're fine and it's great that you're here."

You want to believe him but you feel like he's just being nice about it again.

"Isn't it annoying though? I'm certain you had plans for the day and I show up out of nowhere like I did and you had to call in a favor an-"

Thomas puts a finger over your lips quickly silencing you, "Nothing about this is annoying, I promise you."

His amber eyes look stern on his uncharacteristically serious face. His finger on your lips moves slowly until it's under your chin, tilting your head back just a little, "Now say it back, that you're not a nuisance."

For a few moments you forgot what words are until you blubber back and repeat what he just said, "I-I'm not a nuisance."

Thomas smiles and before he can say anything there's a knocking sound behind you.

"We're not interrupting anything are we?" Leighann coos as she leans on the door frame with Rick and Tyler behind her with raised brows and kissy faces.

You instantly feels embarrassed and cover your face with your hands. You know how that looked, Thomas without his shirt on and right up in your face! You hear Thomas coming to your defense swearing up and down that nothing happened and that you were worried you were being annoying.

The guys pick on him relentlessly then while Leighann tries to coax you out from behind your hands, "Come on I was just teasing you."

"I know but now I really feel like a nuisance though," you mumble.

"Come on, why don't we leave these three weirdos to act like teenage boys and you and I will crack open a bottle of red," Leighann tugs on you and drags you to the kitchen.

You still hear Thomas talking to Rick and Tyler though their conversation no longer sounds lighthearted.

Leighann pulls out a few bottles onto the counter and has you take your pick though you just mindlessly point to whatever. Leighann rolls her eyes and grabs a different bottle, something that you usually like.

"Alright come on, spill," she says as she opens the bottle with a pop.

"I just... Maybe coming here was a mistake," you pout.

She rolls her eyes again and sets the bottle down, "No, the only mistake that was made was your parents not letting you have a fucking life."

You cringe at their mentioning.

"You have no preferences, no real likes or dislikes, and it took you till yesterday to admit that you actually don't care for salmon! They fucked up, they failed you, and now you have the greatest opportunity to be you! The real you that you've even hidden from me, your best fucking friend!" She tosses her hands out before grabbing a couple of mugs out of a cabinet a filling them to the brim with wine.

She's absolutely right and it hurts. Living a carefully crafted life you weren't allowed the luxury of preferences or opinions. Everything you had was what everyone else thought you should have. You were never really you. You cried for a solid hour when you admitted you hate salmon. What else do you not care for, what things do you actually care for?

You take the wine filled mug and chug some of it down before Leighann quickly grabs it from your hands, "Slow down girly, we're just taking the edge off."

"I know... I know," you sigh.

"Ugh enough of that ju-"

Leighann stops and looks over your shoulder with a curious expression. You turn around and see Thomas holding Rick and Tyler by their shoulders.

"Hey uh sorry about earlier, we uh went a little too far with the teasing," Rick apologizes.

"Yeah, we didn't mean to embarrass you or anything," Tyler adds.

"Oh uh... it's uh fine now, I'm just not used to getting teased like that is all. I know you were only joking," you try and smooth things over seeing how nervous both guys look.

Tyler and Rick breathe a sigh of relief but Thomas still looks somewhat upset. That's a bit unsettling to you.

"Well with apologies out of the way and the house basically unpacked. What's next on the agenda?" Leighann breaks the silence with grace.

Thomas snaps out of his mood and gives you a nervous smile, "If you're still up for it we can still have dinner at my place?"

Smiling back you nod.

He too breathes a sigh of relief then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas' house is almost as nice as he is. His house is well decorated and he has an impressive library and a large photo of his family at the entry. You were surprised to find out that he's a triplet and how different he and his brothers look.

His kitchen is cute with a wonderful forest green color that has copper pots and pans hanging above the island.

He has Rick and Tyler help with the grill while you and Leighann lounge poolside with fresh made lemonade.

"Not going to lie, I'm now thinking about moving here," she laughs as she steals a glance at Tyler.

She's been messing with him since they've met and you can see something there. They bantered like they've done it their entire lives earlier and Rick and Thomas just stood watching impressed at her while you were impressed at Tyler for keeping up with her.

"If and when that happens are you going to move next to Tyler?" you ask.

She chuckles and sighs, "Oh no, I'd move across the street."

You roll your eyes and look over at Thomas. He was placing some steaks on the grill while talking to Rick. He turns his head enough and catches you looking at him so you just awkwardly smile at him.

Trying to play off that weird moment you turn to Leighann to say something but you're unable to get a word out before Tyler approaches her and the two walk away and start to conversate.

"He is really into your friend there," Thomas says as he approaches you.

"He's in big trouble then, Leighann's a tough cookie," you shrug.

There's a long stretch of silence then that's eventually broken by Thomas clearing his throat, "I'm uh sorry about earlier, that was really inappropriate of me."

"Oh it's f-"

"No, it's not. I also hear what Leighann said earlier as well. About not having any preferences. You told me last time you were here about how little control you had over your life but I didn't think it was that bad. What kind of pack would allow that?" Thomas looked at you with confusion then.

But now you're confused, did he just say pack? Maybe that's some slang for family around here.

"Rich families do this sort of thing all the time. I got too used to it and maybe I feel too guilty if I upset or annoy someone because of how often it was beaten into me," you shrug.

"Beaten?" Thomas asks, looking like he was about to explode.

"Not too bad either, just the usual ruler or pointing stick. And nowhere that would be visible. It stopped when I was fourteen though so it's been a long while," you reassure him as if this was perfectly normal.

Thomas looks like he's really about to explode now, "Your pack allowed that? What the hell is wrong with them? You were just a child!"

"I was expected to act a certain way and if I didn't, there were consequences," you reply though a bit more unsure of yourself than before.

He shakes his head and gets down to your level, "Are there any other children in your pack dealing with that?"

You shake your head, "No, there's none. I'm the youngest in my family so th-"

"Not your family, your pack," he repeats.

Furrowing your brows you cock your head to the side uncertain what he's asking now. Could it be a community thing then? You knew a lot of girls your age also went through what you did, often comparing stories at camps or pageants when you were younger. But that also doesn't feel like the right answer.

Seeing you take so long to answer, Thomas takes your hand ever so gently and gives it a squeeze, "You can tell me ok, I promise I won't mention you to your pack leader but the council doesn't tolerate the mistreatment of children. They can help."

Now you know that neither of you are on the same page. In fact you're one hundred and one percent confused.

"I'm sorry, I haven't any idea what you're talking about," you tell him.

He looks away from you for a moment and sighs, "I know it's not easy for you to open up but our kind has to stick together. You said you're from New York and I know the packs up there aren't the best but I didn't know they'd be that bad. How about this, I just list them off and if I say the one you're from just nod your head ok?"

Before he starts listing packs off you hold up your hands with panic running through you.

You remember your parents talking about the other folk at a gala they were at. Vampires, moth men, liches, and werewolves, how they actually existed and lived amongst us. Your dad swore up and down he was close with a werewolf pack.

Pack...

"Thomas, I think there's been a big misunderstanding here and please forgive me for my next question if it seems a bit odd, but you're a werewolf right?" you cringe your face hoping you're wrong.

"Of course I am... Wait a moment, oh goodness are you not one? Are you a different were or perhaps a vampire? No that can't be it's day time, then a li-"

"No no, none of the above. Thomas, I'm human."

[notreallysama]

⸸ 𝐰!𝐭𝐡 ☣︎𝐧𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐬

𖤐 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. I haven't written in a long time, wanted to get started on tumblr. criticism appreciated (⸝⸝╸-╺⸝⸝) might make a bonus part for sylus later.

𖤐 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. none, it's sfw, just spoilers up ahead. no use y/n, and reader is gender neutral. a little bit of creative freedom on rafayel's part lol.

𖤐 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. I couldn't stop thinking about how the boys would react if they saw the way sylus treats you, so...

Out of all three of them, Zayne panics the most. He still has that stoic expression on his face, but he keeps clenching and unclenching his jaw, and he's utterly restless.

His hands shake. It's just a little tremble for anyone else, but for a surgeon? It's pretty serious.

He can't stop his thoughts from spiraling, forming every possibility under the sun about what could go wrong with your heart, depending on what situation could you be facing at the moment. It's quite difficult for him to maintain a clear head.

That is, until he finally finds you.

The moment his eyes catch sight of you, it's easy to push away every thought, other than getting. you. out.

Zayne is quite protective. Seeing the way Sylus... throws you around, tosses you, the way he talks to you like you're a pet, it makes his eyebrows twitch.

He hasn't handled you with care in all his lives, for an arrogant man to treat you with such little respect.

He knows he has to turn a blind eye, focus on getting you out of his hold, on reasoning with him to avoid pointless conflict, but it's so hard when his eyes keep snapping to the way he grips your arm like that.

"Release her. Whatever you are trying to gain, I can arrange it."

"I see you lack common courtesy."

"I was planning to avoid getting blood on my hands, but that doesn't mean I would hesitate, if I need to."

Doesn't talk. Not a word.

He doesn't give his brain a second to breathe, even. He doesn't let himself process the anxiety of you going missing. All he thinks about is plans, plans, plans. Where should he look next? Which part of the N109 Zone should he investigate after that one? Who should he contact to possibly get more information about where you were last seen?

There are very few moments, when he's sitting in his living room, the lights all off except for the little bunny night light, that his mind does wander.

You would be safe now, at home, if he hadn't let you out of his sight.

He blames himself, then, and the guilt is so heart-crushing that he gets up right there and then, and off to the next location.

When he finally catches sight of you, all that leaves his mouth is a breathless whisper of your name, before he rushes.

He doesn't bother with any of the people working for Sylus, not a second glance sent their way as he just dodges the attacks and moves as fast as light, just to get to you.

His eyes are zeroed in on the crimson-eyed man, his lips pressed together in a tight line as his brain works a hundred times faster.

His priority is to get you behind him. To put himself at ease that you're out of that insolent man's reach.

He talks only to you.

"Get behind me."

His expression is unreadable as he's told that there's still no news on your whereabouts, after three entire days.

It would be a lie if he says he didn't know the peaceful days of taking walks on the beach, calling you "Miss Bodyguard" in the most whiney tone possible just to get a reaction out of you, you staying with him while he works on a drawing... it would be a lie if he says he didn't know those days would eventually come to an abrupt halt.

Maybe he just thought he would have more time with you, before fate catches up.

Not that he is planning to say goodbye. Not again.

His manager has never seen a more serious look on his face before, has never heard his voice so... monotone as he calls to say he can't make it to today's event.

He knows where he has to go, he isn't entirely unprepared for this. It has just gotten a little more out of his hands than he'd like to admit. Nothing he can't fix.

But god is he irritated. Irritated at the way that greedy bastard is looking at him, the way he looks like he's barely bothered to protect you from him taking you away.

Whether it's because Sylus underestimates him, or how little he values you, it gets under Rafayel's skin. He's never been a patient man.

Ah, is that blood on his coat? He didn't really pay attention to which one of the freaks working for that jerk he had stabbed in the hallways.

"You don't have to make it harder than it has to be, you know?"

"A deal, with you? Don't make me laugh."

[angelwishess]

𝜗୧ Kyra Lovelace

(REMAKE) || Pinterest Boards — Playlist .

The magicless prefect of Ramshackle; a beautiful young lady who always carries herself with a sense of gracefulness and elegance fit for a princess. But behind that fair facade, lies an endless curiosity, a desire for danger and a knack for causing trouble.

𝜗୧ — BASIC INFO !

Nicknames:

Prefect / Prefect of Ramshackle

Henchman (Grim)

Trickster (Rook)

Little Shrimpy / Sea Angel (Floyd)

Kid (Leona)

Child of Man (Malleus

Lacy, Ra-ra (Cater)

Grade/Class: Freshman, Class A

Birthday: May 5

Age: 17

Height: 172.72 cm (5’8 ft) ( 177.80 /5’10 with her heels! )

Dominant Hand: Right

Homeland: ???

Club: Equestrian Club

Best Subject: Animal Languages

Hobbies: Designing and making clothes

Pet Peeves: Living routinely.

Favourite Food: Burgers and Steak Fries !!

Least Favorite Food: Steamed fish and liver

Talent: Making clothes out of just about anything!

Likes : Fashion, Cute things, Mythology, Folklore, Fairytales, Flower language, “Adventure”, Anything considered “Art”, Ribbons n’ frills, Pranks n’ mischief, Amusement parks, adrenaline rushes, Freedom, Cute sweets and cafe hopping!

Dislikes : “Boring things”, Normalcy/Living life routinely, pessimism, indecisiveness, lack of freedom, strong smells, studying, silence, humid weather, being looked down on / underestimated, people trying to “save her”.

Gender & Sexuality: cis girl, demisexual + demiromantic

Voice Claim(s):

Note, these are subject to change !

ENG: KJ Burkhauser (as Scylla from Epic: The Musical)

JP: ??? (None yet!)

𝜗୧ — APPEARANCE !

A tall girl with fair skin and rosey cheeks. She has long, wavy white hair that fades into a soft pink. Her eyes are also pink, but she has notable long, thick lashes. She almost always has a smile on her face. (Smiling resting face)

It is notable that she is very beautiful, and has a very elegant, other worldly aura.

No, literally… She has an aura. 😭

It honestly started as a joke but its canon now?? I seriously dont know— best example I can give is something similar to Kokomi Teruhashi from Saiki K but her aura is pink and sparkly … And she doesnt have it all the time only when she smiles shoujo style yk HAHAHAHA

𝜗୧ — PERSONALITY !

Kyra, at first, seems very elegant. The picture perfect image of what you think of when you think of the word “princess”. Shes soft-spoken, quiet, and mild-mannered. Usually not speaking unless spoken to, and always has a far-off, dreamy look on her face. She seems mysterious, and other worldly, like they pulled her out of a fairytale. Her presence attracts people and animals alike, they cant help but be drawn to her somehow.

Although she comes off as very mature and graceful at first— the true Kyra is a whirlwind of impulsivity and chaos. Shes unpredictable, and thinks in a way others way deem... strange. Shes bounce-off-the-walls energetic and eccentric, and unfortunately, a little naive too. Shes a dreamer at heart, after all!

She says and does things without thinking, often coming off as painfully honest and blunt. She says whatever she wants to and is extremely outspoken, not caring one bit about what she says.

She adores the feeling of adrenaline in her veins and would do anything to chase that high. Because of this, she always has trouble burning hot on her heels. You can bet theres never a dull moment with Kyra around - from trying to juggle fish to exploding the alchemy lab to see "how many cool colors she can make", theres always something unexpected happening around her!

She has an insatiable, childish curiosity, and is always enamored by new things! She loves learning and experiencing new things, and always goes out of her way to try and learn every day. Shes very honest, and sometimes even blunt. She enjoys a good challenge, no matter how ridiculous or extreme and hates being looked down on or underestimated.

A huge klutz and so accident prone its ridiculous, Kyra always finds herself in the middle of some sort of accident or situation. Whether on purpose or not, if theres some sort of incident shes most likely involved somehow... Safe to say that the infirmary is her second home.

Despite her seemingly thoughtless behavior; Kyra is actually very compassionate. She's always the first person to come rushing in when someone is in need, and is a little too trusting of people, to the point of naivety. Shes extremely loving and caring, and even if she teases her friends, she adores all of them dearly and views them as family!

Kyra is a very positive person! She prefers to see the bright side of things, and is so cool-headed its honestly scary. She seems to never get upset, and faces everything with a bright smile! She holds no grudges towards anyone, and is so full of love sometimes its sickening. She chooses to always look forward, and move on from disasters with an even bigger smile than before.

Shes the kind of person that leaves a lasting impression. If you’ve met her, you’ll never forget her! No matter how rambunctious and chaotic she is, she spreads her love and her light to everyone she meets, and before you know it, she’ll find some way to worm her way into your heart! As a friend, and as a companion. A soul as lovely and as beautiful as her’s is sure to leave an impression you’ll never forget.

𝜗୧ — BACKGROUND / LORE (TW: for dehumanization.)

The life of a princess; from her birth is well defined. She must humbly serve her country and her people and wordlessly play the role she has been assigned.

She has no other purpose, after all. This is what she is meant for- the only thing shes good for. To not speak, nor think for herself. To act only for the sake of others.

Because that is what a princess does. She does not have any other identity outside of this. Nor does she need any identity outside of this. This is the only thing shes good for, what gives her worth. Purpose. She is nothing if not her title and her beauty, a tool for the kingdom to use for its advantage. She is someone— no, something to be used.

But, Kyra is a dreamer. She wants, and she wants. No matter how many times she tries to stop it. She cant help that yearning for freedom she so desperately desires. Yearning, to be more than what shes told she is. Yearning to have more than what they have planned for her.

From her birth, she was forbidden from ever stepping foot outside the palace walls, her father much harsher on her than her other siblings. She escaped through fairytales, and filled her head with dreams of the fantastical. Of course, this only made her want more. It fueled her wonder and curiosity of the outside world, and dreamed that one day she would be able to leave and explore the world for herself.

Of course, as years passed she had she had long played the role as princess, obeyed every command and compliantly did everything the people asked of her. She threw away her own desires for the sake of her country- because that is her only purpose.

But you can only push someone so far.

After getting news from her father that she was promised to a prince, she stormed back to her room to weep. All of her dreams now crushed, and her hope gone.

She ripped out the pages of an old scrapbook shes had since she was a little girl. All of her dreams of adventure written and illustrated in lead and colorful pencils— now ripped to shreds. Nothing but little pieces of paper, of thrown out dreams. Dreams of leaving this palace and going to the beach, or an amusement park. Dreams of travelling the world and to see what it has to offer...

Dreams to make friends, and have grand adventures with them.

All hope was lost... Atleast thats what she thought, until she looked up to the sky and saw a shooting star. Out of desperation, she made a wish. The first time in years, as childish as it was she had no other choice.

And when she woke up, she was in a world she always dreamed of going to. And she couldn't be any happier. Maybe… Just this once, even just for a little while… She can be selfish too.

𝜗୧ — NOTABLE RELATIONSHIPS !

Kyra ♡ Floyd — Bestfriends! Or more. || Theres no one on land or in the sea that could ever be more in sync than these two. Always on the same page and wreacking havoc wherever they go, they’re an inseperable duo attatched to the hip! They say they’re best friends, but everyone can see the dopey, lovestruck expression on their faces when they look at eachother. They’ll keep denying it, but no one knows why. (Wanna know more? Floyra’s intro post will be linked here!) (when i make it. Sighs.)

Kyra & Leona — “Big bro!” || Kyra seemed to take a liking to the beastman after the events of Book 2, often following him around like a lost puppy. She sees him as an older brother figure— sevens know why, but as time passes Leona found himself seeing her as his little sister, too. Perhaps, Kyra yearned for someone to call her older sibling. After all she never got to spend any time with hers.

Kyra & Malleus — Closest friend. || Both royalty thats underdeveloped socially, with a curiosity for the seemingly mundane things of the everyday life of humans— Kyra and Malleus are quite the duo, Kyra thought he looked so cool when they first met, and immediately invited him into Ramshackle! At the end of the night, she invited him to visit again the next day. When asked why, she said they were friends. And ever since, they’ve found comfort in eachother’s presence, and being eachother’s close friend.

Kyra & Crewel — “Dad!” || Kyra lacked a proper father figure in her life before arriving to TWST, her biological father being very distant. Crewel made her feel like she actually had a father figure, and now shes always quick to help him whenever she can. (… Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to approve of her choice with Floyd.)

Kyra & Adeuce — Dumb, Dumber and Dumbest. || Ah. The original trio. Kyra looks out for them— but most of the time just lets them be because she thinks its funny watching them flail around whenever they’re in trouble. Basically, they all act like siblings. Always teasing and poking fun at eachother, but also always the first to rush to eachothers side whenever real trouble arises.

Kyra & Jamil — Parallels. || Kyra wanted to be mad at him. To be dissappointed in him, to tell him off after the events of Book 4. But, she couldn’t. She didn’t feel angry at all, her anger from earlier while seeing Kalim cry was faded, sizzled into nothing but a gaping hole of guilt— because how could she hate someone she understands so very deeply? She understands. He doesn’t think so. How could he know she understands when all he sees is her running as free as the wind? But, he doesn’t know, that his freedom is eventual, and promised. And hers is temporary.

(Note: Kyra and Jamil also end up having a sibling-like relationship!!)

𝜗୧ — OC RELATIONSHIPS !

Kyra & Poppy (@/justm3di0cr3) — “Lil’ sis!” || Both gleeful rays of sunshine that attract people, these two are inseperable! Kyra loves to spoil her little sister rotten with gorgeous dresses she designed, and they often have tea parties together to catch up! They love eachother dearly, and see eachother as family!

Kyra & Paige (@/4necdote) — “Mom!” || Kyra never had a mother, atleast not before Paige. And for that, she loves her so very dearly. Sorry Crewel, but shes a total Mama’s Girl!

Kyra & Elena — “Lil’ sis! pt. 2” || Elena has never been one to trust— But Kyra is just too presistent, too sweet and naive. To trust someone who calls herself a monster… How stupid is she? But even then… Kyra still believes in her. She says that she is kind even after all the betrayal, and deep down Elena wants to believe it too. Kyra sees Elena for who she is, and no one other than Azul and her brothers has done that before.

𝜗୧ — TRIVIA / FUNFACTS !

Kyra is Twisted from the stereotype of a Disney Princess!

While Kyra may be a stereotype, there are some princesses that I took inspo from the most! Those are: Giselle, Belle, Rapunzel, and Jasmine!! Cinderella and Snow White too, but thats just because theyre basically the disney princess blue print LMAO

^^ Kyra takes a lot of inspiration from Giselle especially!! She has a lot of her mannerisms. (Body language, the hand movements, ykyk)

In the canon storyline, no one knows Kyra’s past as royalty, and she never mentions it. She keeps it hidden throughout the events of the story, as she doesn’t want to remember it.

Kyra has a unique affinity towards animals that make them naturally drawn to her. Funnily enough, this also extends to merfolk and beastmen! Although its much more subtle.

Because of her past, Kyra is new to most things she interacts with in general. She was enamored when she saw a vending machine for the first time.

Kyra is an adrenaline junkie.

Kyra likes to dig through trash cans. Thats it.

With waaay too much energy, Kyra just cant stay still for a minute. Always off on some random side quest, working a part-time job at Sam's just for the fun of it to partying it up with Scarabia, she just can't stick to one thing for too long! She'll disappear for a minute and come back with something completely random. You really never know with her.

Despite how she seems, Kyra does NOTT take shit from anyone. If she doesnt vibe with you, she’ll just leave. And if you piss her off, its on SIGHT. Will absolutely throw hands regardless of who you are